It's murder at the top
by bannonluke
Summary: A parody murder mystery featuring WWE stars. Slightly AU. Updates may become more infrequent. finished
1. enter the players

**IT'S MURDER AT THE TOP**

****

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the WWE characters. Please don't sue. Alternate universe fic, however I plan to keep everyone in character. The basic concept of this story came from a variety of horror films, in addition to the film of Clue. I did try to add a few of my own ideas rather than doing a word for word rewrite. The story was begun about February 2005. By the time it is finished I wouldn't be surprised if most of the cast have been released from their contracts; but crap happens.

CHARACTER LIST

Dickinson- Steven Richards

Liliette- Stacy Keibler

The chef- Victoria

Major Jerkov- Randy Orton

Widow Black- Lita

Dr. Lionheart- Jericho

Madam Rouge- Stephanie McMahon

Ms. Kestrel- Ivory

Mr. Gold- Kurt Angle

Blackheart- Eric Bischoff

Motorist- Gene Snitsky

Evangelist- Molly Holly

Sheriff- "Stone Cold" Steve Austin

Kissagram- Heidenreich

Dr. Jack Love- Mick Foley

It was the nineteen fifties. An age when television was a novelty, those computers that existed took up entire buildings and people actually thought hoola-hoops were DA BOMB! But there was one thing in common with the current era. Most murder mysteries sucked then too.

It was a dark and gloomy night. Storm clouds were gathering over the dark, God forsaken mansion on the hill. A clichéd way to start a story, but what the hey? A dark brown Studebaker made its way slowly up the steep hill towards the house. Why were all these mansions on hills, the driver wondered to himself, why can't there be a mansion in a nice neighbourhood? He shrugged; well at least it wasn't a castle. So he didn't have to drag one foot and put on a foreign accent.

He stopped the car, reached into the backseat for his package and got out. Immediately two vicious dogs on the ends of chains snarled and attempted to attack him. He hastily opened the package and withdrew a huge meaty bone and threw it towards them. It missed and smashed a nearby window. "Shit!" he muttered, "Why do these things always happen to me? Uh, nice doggy, how about a cookie?" he muttered nervously. The dogs snarled, spit drooling from their gaping jaws.

"Guess that's a no." He sighed. "Oh well, who needed lunch anyway?" He said as he reluctantly withdrew his sandwiches and threw them to the dogs, who muched their spoils like Paul Heyman at an all you can eat buffet. When they retreated to their doghouse, he hastily nipped across the yard and shortened their chains, padlocking them so the dogs could no longer reach the front door.

"Problem sorted." He said, until he took a step forward. "New problem." He looked down at his foot. "Ooh charming, just charming. The accessory I needed." He shot a murderous glance at the dogs, who yawned looking unimpressed, an expression mastered by anyone whose seen Maven wrestle.

He gingerly walked to the door, scraping his shoe on as much grass as he could on the way. "Mangy, lousy, smelly..." he muttered, before stopping himself. "Now, to get into the part. Right, tonight I am not Steven Richards. Tonight, I am Dickinson. Dickinson is dignified." He wondered whether he should do it with an English accent. The only English men he could think of was William Regal, who by his own admission was a Carney, which wasn't much of a help. He had to be pleasant and dignified he reminded himself. OK, subservient was the way to be. He could be a sub; he had been a sub loads of times. Wait, that was submissive, not subservient. Oh hell, he'd wing it.

"Remember," he muttered to himself, "Dickinson. DICK-IN-SON. I am Dickinson." He walked up to the door, brushed down his butler uniform, and finished scrapping the dog crap off on the scrapper. He then entered the building.

"Hey Stevie baby! Is this cool or what?" He closed his eyes. They couldn't, they wouldn't. Not her. He prayed silently to himself, imploring any God who happened to be listening to have mercy. Either the Gods weren't listening or he didn't deserve mercy.

"Why are you standing with your eyes closed?" A bubbly blonde with legs that never ended entered the hallway wearing a French maid outfit that would put Victoria's Secret to shame. Stevie had the dubious honour of working with her before. Instruction was wasted, sarcasm was wasted, being down right rude and condemning her to hell and back was wasted. He looked at the perky, chirpy smile on her face, and longed to be anywhere but here, and felt a migraine coming on.

"Hi Stacy." He muttered wearily. "Let me guess, you must be the maid."

"That's right." She said. "But my name's Liliette. Or Colette. Or Suffragette. Something like that. What are you?"

Steven glanced down at his very obvious butler outfit. Shirt, check, tie check, matching jacket and trousers, check. It couldn't have been more obvious that he was a butler if he had "Butler" tattooed on his forehead. No one can be that dumb. He looked into her eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a newborn, there wasn't a hint of sarcasm or remotely resembling thought.

"I'm the butler." He stated, slowly and clearly, so she could understand it.

"Ooh." She replied. "What does a butler do?"

"I buttle." He replied.

"That's nice." She replied, spinning around with that imbecilic grin plastered on her face.

"You have no idea what I just said, do you?" He asked.

"Ooh shiny!" She said, looking at the chandelier. He closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. This was to be a long night.

"Liliette," he began. "You have to stay in character, remember? Now then, prepare the drinks for our guests, and I, Dickinson, Butler, shall check up with the cook and see if dinner's prepared."

Steven marched down the hallway, past the stairs and continued into the kitchen. As he entered he saw a figure hunched over chopping away at vegetables.

"Ah, cook. Is dinner prepared?" He inquired. The chef spun around, knife in hand. It barely missed the tip of his nose by a centimetre.

"VICTORIA!" Steve squealed. Oh God, that sounded so girly. But then again, this was his psychotic ex-girlfriend he was talking about. Who the heck would let her anywhere near a kitchen, let alone play with carving knifes.

"Dickinson." Said Victoria, maniac light glazing in her eyes and an equally manic smile etched onto her face. "Yes, dinner is almost prepared. I am making, one of my specials. Wanna taste?"

"Um, thanks but I'd better-"

"I SAID TASTE IT!" She yelled, all traces of the smile disappearing. Steven felt his heart beating even faster. Being away for so long didn't help; she still scared the life out of him. A spoon materialized in front of his nose.

"Open up." She demanded. To Steve's horror, he found his mouth automatically responding to her demanding tone. God, he thought he had got over that phase. Suddenly his tongue felt as if molten lava had been poured onto it. He gasped, tears pouring from his eyes. An unholy light came into Victoria's eyes.

"Ooh, was it too hot for ickle Stevie?" She asked in a cruelly sarcastic tone. "Did it hurt?"

"Too mild, didn't feel a thing." Dickinson squeaked out. The smile abruptly disappeared from Victoria's face, as she reached for the pepper pot. At that moment the chimes of the doorbell was heard. Salvation!

"I'd better go." He said as he rushed out, before becoming a test subject again. Hurrying down the hall, his eyes alighted on a vase of flowers sitting under a mirror. Without a second's hesitation he grabbed the flowers, tossed them to one side and chugged down the entire contents of the vase. "Note to self," he panted, "Don't eat the dinner." The doorbell rang again, more persistently.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and straightened his tie. He shook his arms and cranked his neck, before settling down, in character this time.

Treading sedately to the door, he pulled it open just as the man at the door was about to pound it with his fists. Hastily Dickinson stepped to one side, avoiding a punch to the face, as the stranger, stumbled a few seconds into the hallway.

"Ah, pleased to meet you sir. It is Major Jerkov I presume." He said in his best butler voice, putting a lot of emphasis on the Jerk part.

"No I'm Randy Orton." The man said. "And who are you calling a Jack off?"

"For this evening sir, you will be taking up an alias, for confidentiality." Randy looked clueless, well more so than usual. "A made up name."

"Ah." The Major replied, adjusting his horrible yellow suit. "I knew that."

Like hell you did, Dickinson thought. "If sir would kindly follow me this way," he said aloud, "there are drinks in the lounge."

"Do you know exactly why I was invited here?" The major asked, looking a bit shifty.

"I sir, am a mere butler. I am sure all will be revealed as the evening progresses." Dickinson stated.

"That's what I'm afraid of." Jerkov muttered, as they entered the room. Liliette spun around with a tray of glasses in her hands.

"Would you care for a drink sir?" She asked, in a French accent so appalling Rene Dupree would have found it insulting. Suddenly, Dickinson noted, her expression changed when she saw whom had come in with him.

The Major grabbed a glass, and after glancing at her cleavage looked up and saw her face. He flinched, and then took a stiff sip from his glass.

"Well, well." Thought Dickinson, "Interesting." But before he could give it any further thought, the doorbell rang again.

"If you would excuse me sir." He said as he exited the room.

The next guest was a lady dressed in black. Black hat, black veil, black dress, black shoes and, just for a change, black stockings. The only touch of colour was the red of her hair.

"Ah, good evening Madam. You would be the Widow Black, I presume."

"What gave it away?" She sarcastically replied. "And don't you presume with me buster, or I'll be carrying your teeth home in a hat."

"Madam had a charming sense of humour." Said Dickinson through his teeth.

"Madam has no sense of humour, my feet are killing me and it's raining like hell, so do I get invited in or not?"

Dickinson had to resist the urge to slam the door in her face, but plastering on his best shit-eating smile, gestured for her to enter.

"So what's this letter about?" She asked, waving an opened envelope under his nose.

"All will be revealed." He repeated, sensing he was going to be saying that a lot tonight.

"What are you, some cheesy magician?" Madam Black snapped again.

I wish I could make you disappear, Dickinson thought to himself, trying to remind himself that he needed this job.

He took her coat, and tossed in the general direction of the coat rack. "If Madam may follow me to the lounge, there are drinks prepared. Oh, by the way, nice tattoo." The top of one of her arms was covered in an intricate tattoo.

"That's none of your bee's wax, Donne." She snapped.

"Dickinson, Madam, my name is Dickinson." he corrected.

"Whatever, bring me to the booze." She said taking a puff from a cigarette that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. She casually flipped the ash to the floor.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Dickinson kept repeating to himself. "Just this way Madam."

As she swept into the room he announced, "The Widow Black."

"More like the Black Widow." Muttered Liliette. Dickinson did a double take. Did she just use, sarcasm?

"I am Major... Jerkov." The Major announced in an embarrassed tone.

The Widow looked him up and down, her lips twisted. "You can say that again."

"Is she always this charming?" He asked Dickinson.

"So far." He said, as the bell rang again.

The door opened to a short, bubbly brunette, who had her hair swept back in a bun. She was dressed in a white blouse and black trousers, and she had a bundle of pamphlets under her arm. "Have you considered the state of your soul?" she demanded, breathlessly, before Dickinson had a chance to speak.

He looked startled for a second, and then checked each foot in turn. "Yes, I scraped both clean, thank you for inquiring." He said, before he slammed the door in her face. "Weirdo." He said to himself. "I wonder what's keeping the others?"

Roughly a mile down the road, a bright red sports car was pulled to the side of the road, its hood up. A female was poking about vaguely at the engine. She drew back her foot, and viciously kicked the wheel. She leapt up startled at the pain, which was soon matched with the pain of hitting her head on the bonnet.

"PIECE OF SHIT!" She yelled, as she hopped about for a moment or two, clutching her foot in one hand and rubbing her head in another. At that moment there was a crack of lightning and the rain, which had been merely annoying, suddenly became a downpour. Within seconds her Scarlet dress was clinging to her body like a second skin, and her long dark hair was in rat-tails on her face, which her running mascara quickly transformed into a Marcelle Marceau look alike. Apart from that, the evening was going pretty much as she expected when she got that dumb letter.

Gazing hopelessly down the road, she saw approaching headlights. Immediately she rushed over to her car, thrust her ass out as far as she could and lifted one leg, wiggling provocatively. There was a screech of brakes as the approaching car came to a halt. The driver was an attractive blonde man around thirty. His blue eyes tracked slowly over the curved ass and long legs.

"Excuse me miss," he began, "Can I help you in anyway?" He drawled. The woman slowly straightened, his eyes travelled up from her hips, to her magnificent bosom to her... GOD DAMN!

"What the fuck happened to your face?" He said, forgetting all his subtlety.

"It's raining." She gritted from between her teeth. "My make up is running."  
"Maybe if you didn't put it on with a trowel that would help." He offered.

"Are you gonna me a lift or what, wise guy?" She snarled. "My father's the richest man in the county!"

"Oh yeah, then how come he couldn't afford a face lift, or at least a paper bag?" The man retorted. He couldn't help it; every time she opened her mouth that screechy voice gave him more ammo.

"I am supposed to be going to that Mansion on the hill for a dinner." She said, ignoring his last remark. "If you could bit your tongue for a few moments, I will compensate you if you take me there."

The blonde ran his eyes across her body again. "What kind of compensation?" He leered.

"I'll pay you cash." She snapped.

"How much?" He asked.

"5 dollars."

"Goodbye." He said, leaning over to start the car.

"Ten!" She quickly said.

"Make it twenty and I just might." He said.  
"TWENTY?" She yelled.

"That's what I said." The man said, a smug smile firmly in place. "After all, your dad's the richest man in the county."

"Bastard." The woman thought to herself. "Done." she said, hastily getting into the car.

"And you have been." The blonde couldn't resist. "Of course, before I move off I will need the cash upfront, to ensure you don't try to weasel out of it, no offence."

After rooting through her purse for a few minutes, she smacked a damp twenty-dollar bill into his hand. He placed it into his jacket pocket, and opened the passenger's door, she got in and he then started the car.

"By the way, you may call me Doctor Lionheart." The man said.

"YOU'RE a doctor?" She said, slightly more impressed. "I'm... in the entertainment business. My stage name is Madam Rouge."

"What kind of entertainment? Singer?" he sniggered. He could just imagine that screechy voice on Broadway.

"More of an agent." She replied.

The car was silent for a few minutes. "So what kind of doctor are you?" She inquired, breaking that ice. "Because with that mouth of yours you sure aren't in general practise."

"What's wrong with my mouth?" Lionheart demanded.

"You can't open it without some evil sarcastic remark dropping out." Rouge retorted.

"You're not exactly Miss Sunshine and Roses yourself, Princess." He snarked.

"I rest my case." She stated.

"I'm a psychiatrist, OK?" Lionheart said. "However, due to reasons I don't care to disclose I don't practice anymore."

"Oh, you should practice." Rouge said. "In my experience, all men need to practice."

Lionheart looked her up and down again. "And looking at you honey I'm sure you've got enough EXPERIENCE for all of us."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She said in a falsely sweet voice.

During this time, another guest had arrived at the manner. His back was against the backdoor, frantically pulling the bell while the dogs went absolutely ape-shit.

"IN THE NAME OF GOD OPEN THE DOOR." He screamed. It appeared divine intervention occurred as the door opened.

"Good evening sir." Dickinson said. "SIT!" He snapped. The guest hurriedly complied, a nervous wreck.

Dickinson smothered a smile. "Not you sir, I was referring to JR and King, the dogs."

"Oh, oh, OH!" The young man, for he was young despite his baldhead, produced a soggy letter from his inside pocket.

"I got this le-" he began.

"Letter sir, of course, for dinner." Dickinson said.

"And it said I-" the man attempted.

"Have to be addressed as Mister Gold." Dickinson finished. "I know sir. If sir would walk this way."

He turned smartly on his heels and headed up the hallway.

"Now hold on." Mr Gold began, "I want to kn-"

"All will be revealed sir." Dickinson said, stopping at a closet door. He opened it and found a towel, which he threw at Mister Gold. "If sir would care to mop up before joining the other guests."

"There are other guests?" Mister Gold said, nervous.

"Yes sir. That is why it is a dinner party. If it was for one, it would merely be dinner, and it probably wouldn't be happening in a huge mansion, unless you happened to own it, which you do not." As he finished Dickinson was scared, there were people dumber than Stacy here tonight.

"I knew that." Mister Gold remarked, indignant.

"Of course you did sir." Dickinson uttered, wearily.

In the lounge the level of alcohol in the decanters was well down.

"Do you have any milk?" Mister Gold asked. "My mom says alcohol stunts your growth."

Dickinson looked at the man, who was clearly over six foot and built like a brick outhouse. Yes that would be a worry. "No sir, we have no milk." he said.

"Ginger ale?" Mister Gold then asked, "Lemonade? Cola?"

"We have water and ice, if you don't like it lump it." Dickinson said, realising his slip up. "Sir." he quickly added. "Oh, the doorbell!" He stated, as he rushed out. "That will be the remaining guests."

It wasn't. It was the Pamphlet girl again. "Prepare to meet thy doom!" She began.

"I'm preparing to meet my guests, piss off." He said, slamming the door. Hey, she wasn't a guest, so he didn't need to be polite to her. Just then the doorbell rang again.

"I TOLD YOU TO PISS OFF!" He snarled, only to find himself face to face with a tall dark haired woman with a face like she had sucked lemons for a living. "Oh, I do beg your pardon madam." He said sheepishly. "We have been having trouble with Hawkers."

"It's MS. actually, not Madam." The woman said in a frigid voice. "I am to be addressed as Ms. Kestrel, nothing to do with Hawks. And I must say that for a butler your manner leaves much to be desired. Of course you would never be under my employ. I employ only the best servants with impeccable references."

"Are you finished crushing my balls yet Madam? Or would you care to come in?" Dickinson said.

"You insolent-" She began horrified, "I shall complain to your employers."

"Madam is of course quite within her rights to do so. But in the meantime will Madam care to come in?" Dickinson said with a false smile, safe in the knowledge that even he had never met his employer so good luck to her.

Ten minutes later, Madam Rouge and Doctor Lionheart pulled up outside the building.

"Well, thank you for the ride." She said. "You can crawl back under whatever stone you came from."

"Hate to break the news to you sweetheart." Lionheart began, "but I will be joining you for dinner this evening." He said, showing her his invitation.

"WHAT?" She squealed. "I want my money back!"

"Not a chance." He gloated, getting out of the car.

"But you were coming here anyway!" She yelped, also climbing out.

"God," Lionheart thought to himself. "That woman's voice is like nails on a blackboard."

"Sorry Princess." He began, "I don't do refunds." With a nasty smirk he headed up the steps and rang the doorbell. She stamped after him, muttering under her breath.

Dickinson pulled open the door, and looked surprised. "Doctor Lionheart, and Miss Rouge. I didn't know you two were acquainted."

"We're NOT!" The two snapped in unison, as they stamped into the hallway.

"Sheesh." Dickinson thought to himself. He hadn't seen two people as bitchy since the last time he visited his parents.

"Do you have anything I can dry myself with?" demanded Rouge, "I'm soaked through."

"Madam only had to ask." Smirked Dickinson, taking in the face turned towards him. "And if Madam wishes to 'freshen up' a little, there is a cloak room at the end of the hall."

She stamped down the hall, as well as someone in six inch heels could. Dickinson turned and looked at Lionheart.

"Her car broke down," explained Lionheart, "that's the only reason we're together."

"Of course sir." Dickinson replied. "But sir, there is of course no need to justify yourself to me sir, I am merely a butler."

"I wasn't justifying myself!" Snapped Lionheart. "I was just explaining."  
"Explanations are not necessary sir." Dickinson said, enjoying himself. "I am not passing any judgement."

"There's nothing to judge!" Lionheart said, his voice rising. "We've just met!"

"Of course we have sir, you just came through the door." Dickinson said.

"I don't mean us, I mean me and the dame!" Lionheart said getting more flustered. Five seconds, Dickinson thought, I can get him to crack in five seconds.

"Of course sir, I understand perfectly sir." he said in the tone of voice reserved when one is humouring a liar.

"I don't know the dame! We've never met before! I wasn't looking at her ass!" Lionheart paused, realising what he just said. "If I give you twenty dollars will you pretend this conversation never happened?"

"What conversation sir?" Dickinson asked, as he pocketed the twenty. Just then there was another ring at the doorbell.

"Not again!" Dickinson moaned in exasperation. He opened the door to be met once again by the Pamphlet Girl.

"Judgement day is upon us!" She yelled, "Repent before it's too late."

"Do you accept donations?" Dickinson asked.

"Yes." She said.

"OK, here's twenty dollars." Dickinson said, handing it over to her. "Please go away." He then shut the door on her again.

"That ought to get rid of her." He said to himself, "for now."

Meanwhile in the bathroom, Rouge was muttering under her breath about what scum men were, and what a prick that guy Lionheart was. Certainly he was attractive, but a prick nonetheless. And why did that Butler have such a smirk on his face when he suggested she might want to freshen up?

She looked into the mirror, and barely suppressed a yelp. Ye...Gods. She looked like a damn racoon! Her mascara had run, leaving two black pools around her eyes, and streaked right down to her mouth where her lipstick was smeared everywhere. Those bastards! They were getting a kick out of her looking like this! Reaching into her handbag she produced an industrial sized make up compact. This was going to take work.

In the hall an uncomfortable silence had fallen. Lionheart was standing with his hands behind his back, looking at anything but the Butler. Dickinson was checking his shoes to see if there was any... dust marks.

"Do you smell something?" Lionheart asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Nothing sir." Dickinson said quickly.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn I smelt dog sh..."

"NOTHING SIR!" Dickinson said emphatically.

Just then Madam Rouge re-entered the hall. Her make up reapplied made her appear slightly more attractive. Then again, that wasn't saying much. Dickinson noted she would have looked a bit better if she wore a dress that actually fitted, instead of one two sizes too small. The one she was wearing made her look like two pillows stuffed into one case.

"If you would walk this way..." Dickinson began, mincing down the hall.

"If I walked like that I'd get arrested." Lionheart said.

"Honey, if you walked like that you'd get propositioned." Rouge snarked.

"May I present Doctor Lionheart and Madam Rouge." Dickinson said. There was a general round of half-hearted hellos.

"Are we all here yet?" Jerkov asked, getting impatient.

"There is one more to arrive." Dickinson said, as the doorbell rang. "Speak of the devil." he commented.

"THE DEVIL? ARGH!" Mr. Gold screamed, as he hid behind the sofa. "I knew this was something bad. You're all devil worshippers."

"Pathetic male." Ms. Kestrel scoffed. "But then again, all males are pathetic."

"Hey!" The other men in the room protested.

"Just because he's a wimp doesn't mean we are." Lionheart said.

"Listen wuss," Widow Black said, trying to comfort Gold, "We are not devil worshippers. Would a Satanist dress like this?" She said, gesturing to herself.

Gold took a peek out from the sofa, and took in her all black ensemble. "EEP!" He said as he dived back down.

"I tried." She said, shrugging.

While this was happening, Dickinson had went back to the front door.

"You again?" He said wearily as he saw it was the Pamphlet girl. "I've already given you money, so bog off."

He attempted to close the door again, but this time she stuck her foot in the door.

"The end is nigh!" She called, holding a pamphlet with the same title.

"I know, there's only one guest to arrive." Dickinson said, "Look! A huge distracting thing!"

"Huh?" The pamphlet girl said as she turned around. Dickinson took that moment to push her back and slam the door.

"Lord help me." He sighed, as he lent against the door. So when the doorbell rang he almost leapt a foot in the air, clutching his heart. He inched the door open and peered round.

"Ah." He said, observing the guest. "Nice to see you sir. You're the last to arrive, as planned."

"Lead on." The man said, indifferent.

Dickinson gestured for him to enter. He quickly turned around, bolted the door, turned three locks and then took the key from the lock and put it in his pocket. The dark clad guest raised an eyebrow at this. Dickinson plastered a nervous smile on his face.

"Uh, sometimes in the high wind the door springs open." He lied.

"I'm sure it does." The guest sneered. Dickinson led him to the lounge. The two paused at the doorway to take in the spectacle of Liliette trying to coax Gold out from behind the sofa with milk and a tray of cookies.

"Come on," she said in a maternal voice, "no-one's gonna hurt you. Come to Liliette."

"For crying out loud," Madam Rouge said, "He's a male. Not a damn kitten! Show him your tits and he'll come out quick enough."

"Such crudity." Ms. Kestrel said in disgust.

"Honey, from what I can see if she flashed her tits you'd come out, if you haven't already." Widow Black sneered.

"What do you mean by that?" Jerkov said, clueless.

"It's what we in the procession call carpet munchers." Madam Rouge began, "Also known as..."

"If I can have your attention" Dickinson hastily interjected. "I would like to present Mr. Blackheart."

Blackheart slide into the room. In fact, there was something all together oily about him. Hair slicked back, orange fake tan, blinding white obviously fixed teeth. A contrast to this constructed appearance of respectability was a very stubbly jaw, not to mention a calculating look in his eyes, that gave you the impression he was taking everyone in, weighing them and placing them all firmly into internal categories.

"So," he drawled, a half-smirk on his lips. "Do you think we can get on with this fiasco? I am an important man, and time is money."

"Yes," thought Dickinson, "ten dollars an hour tonight."

Before anything else could be said, there was a loud clash of a gong, followed in short order by several more.

"DINNER IS READY YOU MUTTS!" Screeched a feminine voice.

"Ah." Said Dickinson, pretending nothing untoward had happened, "Dinner would appear to be served."

"You think?" Jerkov muttered, as he hauled Gold from behind the sofa.

"THE GONGS! TIS A SIGN OF THE END TIMES!" He screeched.

"Hear, take these." Lionheart said, dumping a handful of white pills into Gold's reluctant hand.

"What are they?" Gold asked, suspicious.

"P... um, they keep the nasty demons away and make everything fluffy and happy." He said, using a bit of child psychology on Gold.

"Do they taste nice?" Gold asked. Unknown to him Widow Black had sneaked up behind him.

"Eat them or I will make you a very sorry boy!" She hissed in his ear.

"Ooh!" Gold whimpered as he quickly obeyed.

"Nice bedside manner." Lionheart remarked, "by any chance are you in the medical profession?"

"No, but my husband was a doctor, of sorts." Black said mysteriously.

"Well, this and other conversations can continue at the dining table." Dickinson said, "The cook can get testy if dinner is left cold." Just then the doorbell rang again. Dickinson remained in his place. The ringing continued.

"She can keep on ringing." He thought to himself, "She's not getting in."

"Repent therefore," The woman's voice could be heard yelling, "or else I am coming to you quickly, and I will make war against them with the sword of my mouth!"

"Huh?" Dickinson said. He went back into the hall, and saw that the door's letterbox was pushed open, and she was shouting passages from the book of Revelations through it.

"Damn it." Dickinson exclaimed. He then bent down and spoke into the letterbox, "I would like to remind you of a Bible passage. "None can come to the father, except through me." Therefore, if I wanted to repent, it has to be MY choice. So may I politely, with the greatest respects, ask you, to fuck off!"

There was no answer, but the letterbox closed again. Dickinson made a memo to himself to nail the letterbox shut. He then returned to the lounge.

"My apologies for the delay, now if you will follow me…" He said gesturing.

"What was with the Bible quotations?" Blackheart asked as they walked towards the dining room.

"Sorry sir, problems with evangelists." Dickinson said.

Blackheart summoned up a mental image of the mansion, and the miles of its bleak and uninhabited surroundings. "You get many?" He asked in disbelief.

"More than you'd think sir." Dickinson replied. They followed him to the next doorway, which led into an enormous dining room, with walls decorated with paintings. The table was set for seven; three down each side and one at the top. There were name cards at each seat. They milled around for a few minutes until they had taken their seats. On the left hand side of the table were Lionheart, Widow Black and Mr. Gold. On the other, Major Jerkov sat between Ms. Kestrel and Madame Rouge. Blackheart sat at the head of the table.

"Right," Dickinson said as he clapped his hands. "Isn't this delightful? Liliette, start serving the soup."

"What kind of soup?" Ms. Kestrel asked.

"Chicken broth." Dickinson replied.

"None for me." She stated, "I eat nothing with a face."

"Really?" smirked Rouge, "that must make for a tricky love life."

"Is fornication the only thing that interests you?" Ms. Kestrel snapped.

"Of course not." the Madam replied. "I find money much more interesting."

Liliette served up the soup for the others. Jerkov looked up just as she bent over to serve Madame Rouge. Her chest was in severe danger of dropping out. He choked on his soup it was like molten lava, and had to suffer through several seconds of the two women beside him pounding him on the back.

To say that several people's table manners were lacking would be an understatement. Most only took one spoonful of the soup before hastily spitting it back out and reaching for anything vaguely cold. The second course arrived, it was fish. Everyone eyed it nervously except for Ms. Kestrel.

"Ooh!" She said coming to life. "This is one of my favourite dishes!" She commented. The others poked unenthusiastically at the rather ugly looking fish on their plates. Couldn't they at least cut its head off?

"The brain's the best part!" Kestrel commented, crunching on the head. One by one the others pushed their plates aside.

"Mmm, God, delicious." commented Kestrel in orgasmic pleasure. She looked up and noticed that no one else was eating anything. In fact they were all looking at her in horror.

"What? Do I have something on my teeth?" She asked.

"How the hell can you eat that?" Jerkov stated bluntly. "So much for not eating anything with a face. That thing not only had a face, but a whole head and it was staring at you."

"Yes..." Mr. Gold added, traumatised, "And yet you robbed it of its existence."

"Listen junior" Lionheart said, "It was a fish!" Lionheart didn't know what it was about these people, but almost anytime one of them opened their mouths he felt his fists starting to itch. Even the women. He glanced across at Rouge. ESPECIALLY the women. Which was so uncharacteristic of him, just ask anyone. Well, except anyone he'd ever dated.

"Fish are people too!" Gold protested.

"No, they're fish." Widow Black said, "It was a dead red fish."

"Red herring to be exact." Dickinson chimed in.

"I thought that was a false clue in a murder mystery." Madam Rogue commented, looking down her nose at him.

Now that Kestrel had finished pigging out, it seemed like a good time to round these morons up and get it over with. Then he reminded himself he was getting ten dollars an hour for this. His cheesy smile returned. It could wait.

"Dessert, anyone?" He asked.

"What is it this time?" Widow Black sarcastically began, "Cyanide pudding?"

"Actually it's Death by chocolate." Dickinson remarked.

Gold opened his mouth, a panicked look on his face. Lionheart raised his knife up threatingly. The fact it was a fish knife took a little bit away from the menace, but it got the job done as the wimp remained quiet.

"Sure, why not?" Jerkov said, "After volcanic soup and a main course that stared, what the hey?"

Liliette tottered into the room with a tray of dessert dishes. She slammed it down on a coffee table, giving everyone a flash of her panties as she bent over.

"Le grub es up." She stated grinning like a maniac. "See that?" She whispered to Dickinson, "I spoke French!"

"Yes, you certainly did." Dickinson said. "Well, hurry up and give the dishes out."

Liliette picked up two dishes, her thumbs resting on the dessert so it wouldn't fall out. She slopped the first dish out at Madam Rouge, getting some of it into her cleavage. Rouge looked down at it.

"You clumsy little bi-" she began.

"I'M TERRIBLY SORRY MADAM!" Dickinson interrupted, as he grabbed a napkin and began to scrub at her breasts, deliberately taking a while. She snapped the napkin off of him.

"Hands off Herbert!" she snapped.

"Dickinson Madam." he corrected.

As this had been happening Liliette had been busy plonking desserts in front of everyone, licking the chocolate off her thumbs every now and then. As she was giving Gold his dish, Blackheart took that moment to grab her heiny. She swung around quickly and slapped him in the face.

"No dessert for you JERK OFF!" She snapped.

"What did I do?" The Major asked confused. "I already had dessert anyway."

Liliette stomped off as an awkward silence fell.

"Coffee anyone?" Dickinson quickly piped up. "Or perhaps some brandy in the lounge."

"BRANDY!" Snapped one and all.

'Well, if you would care to follow me." Dickinson began, "And then-"

"If you say 'all will be revealed'" Widow Black began, "I will place my foot up your ass so fast I'll have to open your mouth to shine my shoe!"

"Very well then, all shall be explained." Dickinson said smugly. Black snarled at him.

**SHALL ALL BE REVEALED? OR SHALL IT MERELY BE EXPLAINED? WILL THE AUTHOR QUIT WITH THE LAME PUNS AND BAD JOKES (NOT IN THIS LIFE TIME) WILL I POST THE NEXT CHAPTER IN THE NEXT CENTURY? MAYBE. **


	2. blackmail and murder

**It's murder at the top chapter two**

Meanwhile, in a deserted room, a hand reached through a broken pane of glass, and unlatched the window. The figure slowly edged the window open, soundlessly. The figure then grasped onto the ledge, and slowly entered. However, given the noise coming from the dining room, they could have entered tap dancing while hollering "The Yellow Rose of Texas" without anyone noticing. They paused, waiting for the hall to clear. The intruder crept silently across the room, and entered the hall. The stranger then sneaked towards the kitchen. Giving a glance to the left and right, they saw that no one was in the hall. Good, that way the bozos would be none the wiser.

After waiting a few minutes while the ladies located their purses, shawls etc. and the Major downed any wine that was left at the table, they straggled down the hall and into the study. There was a stampede towards the sideboard where the brandy and other spirits sat. Unnoticed by anyone, Dickinson made his way across the room towards a desk. He unlocked a drawer, and removed several files, setting them on top of the desk.

"If anyone would care, there is brandy and..." He said, as he began to turn around. Everyone looked up guiltily from where they had been helping themselves.

Dickinson sighed. "There is coffee of course for..." he started, until he saw Mr. Gold had the coffee pot in his hand. "Nice to see everyone has made themselves comfortable." He stated, as he thought to himself, "I'm the Goddamn butler, I'm the one who's supposed to offer them the drinks! Well might as well get this train wreck started." He cleared his throat and said, "If you would care to take a seat, I shall begin."

"Begin already!" Lionheart said, "You have been dithering all damn night, get to the point! It's bad enough that we've been dragged up here and then served one of the most inedible meals I have had the misfortune of eating, in the company of some of the most unlikeable people I have ever met."

"Like any of us find you scintillating either." Rouge commented.

"As you already know by now," Dickinson continued doggedly, "You are each being addressed by a pseudonym."

"That means a fake name." The Major said, matter of factly.

"There is a perfectly good reason for this. And that is, you are all being... blackmailed." Dickinson said gravely.

There were hasty murmurs of denial all round. Ms. Kestrel was protesting the loudest.

"I have never done anything in my life the least bit illegal." She said in a self-righteous tone.

"Oh yes?" Dickinson said. He was going to enjoy bringing this stuck up bitch down. "What about your "business" partner?" He began, "I have photographs which show it is much more than a professional relationship."

"You mean she's-" Lionheart said.

"Oh come on." Rouge snorted. "How blind can you be? Didn't you notice the cruel jabs I made earlier? It must be true what they say about blondes being stupid."

"I just put that down to you being a spiteful cow." Lionheart retorted.

"Uh, what are you guys talking about?" Mr. Gold asked, confused.

"I'm a lesbian you idiot!" Kestrel remarked.

"Isn't that one of the Greek islands?" Gold said. "You're an illegal immigrant? But what's that to do with your partner?"

"I'm a homosexual!" Kestrel snapped.

"You like to have sex with homes?" Mr. Gold said shocked. "I mean I heard about people doing it with trees, but a house? Ew!"

"God, how can you know that Lesbos is in Greece but not worked out that I fuck other women!" Kestrel snarled, fed up with his idiocy.

"You said the F word!" Gold said, looking shocked. "You're not supposed to say that word, it will make your tongue fall out."

"If that happened then her sexual preference wouldn't be a problem would it?" Widow Black sniped.

"Look, I don't give a damn who knows that I'm gay." Ms. Kestrel said, turning to Dickinson, "so there's no need to try and blackmail me you little weed!"

"I'm not the blackmailer madam, I am merely the butler." Dickinson said, "And it is not simply your sexuality that is causing you to be blackmailed. It's who you are sleeping with."

"She's over twenty one and perfectly willing." Kestrel explained.

"She's also an official for your main business rival. And you're being blackmailed as you have been using your relationship to gather inside information about your rival, e.g. who's coming into the territory and who's leaving, upcoming angles, etc."

"Wait a minute." Lionheart said, "Territory? Angles? What kind of business are you in?"

"I'm a promoter in the wrestling business." Kestrel said.

"You're kidding me." Jerkov said.

"Oh, just because I'm a woman, you think I can't be involved in "the sport of kings"?" Kestrel snapped.

"It's not that." The Major said, "I'm involved in wrestling too. A talent scout to be precise."

"What?" She said.

"Indeed he is." Dickinson stated, "In fact he's being blackmailed because he is seducing young, naive and above all talented luchadors and Japanese wrestlers from their own wrestling circuit. "Come to America, land of the free, lots of money etc. etc." And he gets his government buddies to help set them up with false papers. Of course the poor saps end up paying him up to 70 of the money they make to stop him from reporting them to immigration."

"Wait a minute." Widow Black said, "How exactly does he seduce them?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Widow Black." Dickinson said, "I already said he feeds them nonsense about riches and fame. Not all methods of seduction are like yours. Your ex-husbands were all involved in the business too-"

"Hold on." Rogue said, "She said her husband was a doctor."

"I said a doctor of sorts." Black corrected. "A dentist to be exact. Dentist by day, wrestler by night."

"So he liked to inflict pain twenty four seven then." Gold commented.

"You always went for the wrestlers who made big money," Dickinson began, "But as soon as their careers were winding down, or the pay cheques weren't as big, they mysteriously died. Always leaving you with a massive insurance cheque."

"Well, a girl has to be sure of her future." Widow Black commented.

"What would your fiancé think of that?" Dickinson said.

"Fiancé?" Lionheart asked.  
"Yes, the good widow is about to become a wife again." Dickinson commented.

"Who the hell would be stupid enough to marry that?" Madam Rouge said, "She's got the personality of a grizzly bear after hibernation and the subtlety of a shark attack."

"Some kid from Carolina." Dickinson said.

"Uh-uh." Widow Black said, "I was just amusing myself when I accepted Matthew's proposal. I've got a far better prospect in line. Pretty, blonde, dumb as a plank..."

Madam Rouge looked at Lionheart.

"Don't even think about it." He warned her.

"Wasn't gonna." She sarcastically replied. "Besides, anyone can tell you're not a natural."

"I will have you know I was born blonde, smart ass." He snapped. "All this is a hundred percent natural. No plastic involved, can you say the same, Barbie?"

"Bitchy!" She commented.

"Why is everyone being so mean about blondes?" Liliette said, forgetting her accent. "I mean, le blondes."

Dickinson rolled his eyes. "Since you're here, "Liliette" I should point out you're also being blackmailed."

"I am not." She said.

"Are so." He said, "After all, you do send money every month to stop people telling bad stories about you."

"Well they're not true." Stacy said, dropping the act and becoming quite defensive. "No-one has any proof."

"I do." Dickinson said, holding up her file. "I also have information on your employer."

"Well Nuh!" Stacy sneered. "You don't know about YOUR employer and your employer is mine too, so there!"

"I didn't mean your employer for the night." Dickinson said, "After all, they only rented you out, as a maid. Which isn't much different from your other line of work. Except that you get to keep your clothes on. I mean your usual employer."

"Hey, I am merely providing a service for the public." Madam Rogue spoke up. "Besides, those poor men being on the roads most nights of the year get lonely. We provide a bit of companionship, plus necessary window dressing, have you seen how ugly some of those bastards are? And as for the women... if it wasn't for my divas fans wouldn't be able to tell which sex was which."

"Huh?" Mr. Gold asked. "Let me get this straight... you provide hookers, both for wrestlers to use, and also to act as their valets on the shows. And this maid is one of your hookers." He contemplated this, and then began to reach for his wallet. "How much?"

"I wouldn't if I were you Mr. Gold." Dickinson said, "While she is already in dubious territory, it seems she doesn't think it's illegal enough. She also runs her own black mailing business on the side. After all, some people can't seem to keep their mouths shut, especially when having a good time. And there are enough people who condemn wrestling anyway without knowing about some of the actives that stars get up to. Actives that you yourself want to find out as much about."

"I don't know what you mean." Gold said, "I write for a wrestling magazine."

"Ah, but that's your cover." Dickinson said, "You hate professional wrestling and will do anything to try and blemish it, even if you have to make it up. And you are also a member of at least three organisations, which are trying to make it an illegal activity. And in your column you never fail to mention injuries, ruined personal lives and any negative aspects of wrestling."

"But I stand up for wrestling." Gold said.

"I hardly call two sentences at the end of an article defending it." Dickinson sarcastically snapped. At that the bland, goofy look from Gold's face.

"I am an athlete, a true athlete." he began, "And it sickens me that those fat Neanderthals get more recognition than me and my family, true wrestlers, amateur wrestlers. Wrestlers who wrestle as God intended."

"Well I heard wrestling was originally done in the nude, do you know anything about that?" Rogue asked.

"Well it's better than competing against wrestling bears, or wrestling in a stupid mask." Gold snapped, "I mean what next? Wrestling clowns? Wrestling turkeys? How about a wrestler from another planet? This stupid farce needs to end."

"Yes, but if it ended, so would your financial independence." Lionheart said, "Face it, the only reason you can swan around in your suits and you can sit comfortably to bitch about it is because of the money that people who enjoy wrestling put into the magazines, as well as the promotions."

"You know an awful lot about wrestling for a shrink." Widow Black said.

"Yes, but he's a shrink who specialises." Dickinson said, "All his clients are wrestlers. And let me say, what a wonderful job you're doing in keeping them sane."

"Hey, if you're talking about John he had deep personality problems before he came to me."

"When he came to you," Dickinson said, looking at the report, "he was simply psychotic, talking about "little Johnny." After a few months in your tender care, he's turned into a insane poetry spewing stalker."

"I told him he needed to let his angst out." Lionheart said, "How was I supposed to know he'd do that?"

Dickinson replied, "You are a psychiatrist, you're supposed to know these things. Oh, but John was by no means your only startling success. I mean, a wrestler sent his traumatised boy who was convinced he has been burned in a fire. And what do you send back into the world? A masked lunatic who wants to take revenge against the "beautiful" people for making his life misery."

"Well it got him out of my office!" Lionheart said sheepishly, "I mean kids are difficult to work with anyway, but THAT..."

"According to these files Doctor Lionheart, you take people who are sometimes no more than slightly depressed, and by the time they're done with you they are raving psychopaths." Dickinson interrupted, not wanting to listen to anymore of the doctor's feeble excuses.

"I guess I'm just incompetent." Lionheart shrugged, "So sue me."

"More like greedy." Dickinson said. "After all, you charge $500 per hour of treatment, and then deliberately draw it out as long as you can to earn more money."

"Hey, remember the DOCTOR bit?" Lionheart snorted. "You think I went into this profession because I'm concerned with the well being of others? No baby, I'm in this to make as much money as possible."

"And of course, the fact that you yourself a failed wrestler has nothing to do with your resentment." Dickinson said snidely.

"I WAS NOT A FAILURE!" Lionheart blurted out. "My parents forced me to go to medical school. They said wrestling wasn't a proper career, like my father would now anything about that. That washed up hockey jock."

"Well, it would appear that you all have something else in common." Dickinson said. "You've all in some way been involved in the wrestling industry."

"Well what about you Stevie?" Stacy asked. "I mean you weren't always a butler."

Steven looked shocked. Not at the fact she screwed up, he expected that, but the fact she was able to follow the conversation this far.

"He wasn't?" Rouge asked.

"No, he was a wrestler too." Stacy said, "and he was pretty good sometimes. Of course he did a lot of jobbing, and one time screwed up and..."

"I don't wrestle anymore." Steven said, "I don't regret it. I'm happy to be a butler, it's wonderful. Fantastic even."

"What happened?" Widow Black asked.

"Nothing happened." Dickinson said defensively. "I wrestled, I didn't like it, I quit and got a job I did like."

"Bullshit." Blackheart suddenly said, speaking for the first time. "You'd give your right arm to go back into the ring wouldn't you, Big Stevie Cool. The fact is that they wouldn't have you back if you were the last man on earth."

He then addressed the others, "Stevie here wasn't just a wrestler, he was a valet, or more precisely a nursemaid. He accompanied a pretty big name star on one territory, and his duty was to make sure he got into the ring both sober and clean. Except one night he was so busy screwing his girlfriend that he let his charge get so high he ended up jumping off a cage into the audience. Not only did this wrestler die, but he crippled three audience members. Don't know how many others got injured in the chaos that followed. It cost the business big money, and he was black listed. He couldn't even get a job wrestling in a school gym."

Stevie closed his eyes in horror. Oh God, it was happening all over again. Everyone was looking at him in horror and disgust, he could feel their eyes watching him. Had he actually had his eyes open he would have realised that no one was paying attention to him, they were focussed more on Blackheart.

"How do you know all this?" Demanded Lionheart.

"Oh," Blackheart began, an oily smug grin plastered on his face. "I'm the one who's blackmailing you." At that all hell broke loose. Suddenly the room plunged into darkness and a gunshot split the air. The lights came on again just as suddenly as they came off.

"SOMEONE'S GOT A GUN!" Mister Gold screamed.

"And someone's gonna get a thick ear if they don't get their hand off my ass!" Widow Black snapped. But then she saw none of the men were anywhere near her. Whirling round, she glared at Ms. Kestrel, who looked innocently back.

Madam Rouge looked over to where Blackheart was seated and let out a huge shriek of terror; which nearly deafened everyone in the room.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Demanded Lionheart. He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around, to see if the eardrums had been punctured or if the ringing was only temporary. The woman could hire herself as a siren, and he didn't mean the ones that sat on rocks and lured sailors to their dooms. Mind you…

"He's dead!" She said, gesturing to Blackheart's slumped form.

"Huh, more likely he's just passed out hearing your dulcet tones… Ma'm." Dickinson said. "However, since no-one else is going to do squat, I guess I'll have to check."

He walked across the room tentatively towards Blackheart's body. He hesitated. He wasn't too sure how you checked if someone was dead or not. The last body he had seen had been sorta obvious. OK, what had that doctor done? He… took the pulse. Right, you take their hand in yours and then looked at your watch. He grabbed Blackheart's wrist, the body toppled from the chair onto the floor.

"Ah!" Stevie yelped. "That's it. He has to be dead. Which one of you bastards shot him!"

"Us?" Jerkov said. "You're the one he humiliated before the lights went out. How do we know it wasn't you?"

"I'm a butler, sir. I don't get humiliated. I get paid." Dickinson said, "And one, very good reason why I did not shoot him is because I haven't got a gun." He then turned his pockets out to emphasis the point, removed his jacket to show he wasn't wearing a shoulder holster, and pulled up his two pant legs to show he didn't have any in his socks or a leg holster, before finally turning his back to the group, and dropped his trousers to show that he didn't have any guns hidden in his pants.

"There." He boasted, "Nothing in my pants either."

"I wouldn't say that." Smirked Madam Rouge. He looked up and looked straight ahead, realising that since he was being reflected in the large mirror straight in front of him it was pointless turning his back to them.

"Shit." He cursed to himself. "Ok, now, I'm not armed! What about you?" He said pointing firmly at Jerkov.

"Why me?" Jerkov asked.

"Because we're all going to have to prove we don't have guns anyway so we have to start with someone" Mister Gold said, "I thought even a moron in the wrestling business would understand something that simple."

"Oh, so suddenly we're not a timid little mouse anymore?" Lionheart said.

"I have never been a timid little mouse." Gold said, "Intensity is fundamental to me, but so is intelligence. But now I don't have a reason to pretend anymore, my secret's out. Go on, since Jerkov won't do it, frisk me. Go ahead."

Dickinson, after pulling his pants up, strode across the room with as much dignity as he could muster. He felt Gold's pants' pockets, and instantly felt something hard. He hoped it was a gun. He reached in, and pulled out a small, solid gold gun.

"Aha!" Dickinson said. "What have we here?"

"That's a lighter." Gold said calmly.

"Like we're gonna believe that." Ms. Kestrel said.

Dickinson pointed the gun upwards, and pulled the trigger. Immediately a small flame shot from the muzzle, and sat there, wavering in the air.

"Oops." Dickinson said. "It actually is a lighter. Hold on, you said you don't drink but you smoke?"

"Of course, the adverts keep saying they help you relax. A job as intense as mine, I need to relax."

"Ok, this is gonna take too long." Dickinson said frustrated. "Gentlemen remove your jackets, ladies take off your coats, everyone turn out their pockets and jackets." After the encounter with Gold's hardness, he was put off the idea of frisking anyone else. Plus, no way in hell was he going to attempt to frisk Widow Black or Ms. Kestrel. They didn't like him and he doubted if he'd get out of it alive. A few minutes passed while everyone followed his instructions.

"Ok," said Dickinson, very sarcastically, "This simplifies everything." Apart from himself and Mister Gold, everyone else was armed to the teeth. It looked like an NRA conference. And not only that, there were other weapons too. Knuckle dusters, a few daggers, and oddly enough a candle stick and a piece of rope. And the less said about the lead pipe in Ms. Kestrel's handbag, the better.

"So you all came armed." Dickinson said.

"But of course." Madam Rouge began, "Think about it Dickinson, or may I call you Stevie?"

"You may not." Stevie said. He felt more secure acting as Dickinson, which is why he was trying to maintain the act. Madam Rouge either wasn't aware of this, or was but didn't care.

"Well Stevie," she said, "I get an anonymous invitation to a party at a place I've never heard of, asking me to use a false name, and to come alone. It makes a gal suspicious. I wasn't about to waltz in here defenceless."

"Lady, I doubt you were ever defenceless." Lionheart said. "But much as it pains me, I had to agree, I wasn't about to come here without a little insurance."

"But wasn't a knuckle duster, two daggers and a gun a little excessive?" Widow Black asked.  
"Hey, I'm a Doctor." Lionheart explained. "And I know the damage that can be sustained by people who don't go adequately armed."

"The thing that gets me," Stacy began," is why did Blackheart invite us all here to reveal himself? I mean if he was blackmailing us all, what's the point in killing the goose that lays the golden egg? Plus he had to know that at best he'd have gotten the crap kicked out of him." There was a brief pause, before she added," And I want to tell anyone who is even thinking of making a joke about me thinking for once, that I graduated from high school, and the only reason I'm working for Madam Rouge is to pay my way through college. I play dumb, but I'm not dumb."

"You got that right." Stevie said, "Anyone who is as dumb as you act wouldn't be able to stay upright and breathe at the same time."

"I'm just saying it doesn't make sense." Stacy said. "Really. If you're blackmailing people, why go the bother of arranging this party and telling them all."

"I don't think he did." Said Stevie thoughtfully. "He isn't my employer."

"But, you said you didn't know who employed you." Lionheart said.

"I don't know, but I've seen them from a distance. And that was not her."

"Huh?" Jerkov said.

"God, you really are slow." Stevie said, "I work for a lady."

"What sort of woman?" Rouge asked.

"Not a woman," Stevie corrected. "A lady. One who could afford me to pay me ten dollars an hour, plus benefits."

"Hey guys…" Gold began. "Blackheart's gone."

"But how did you know the woman you saw was really your employer?" Lionheart asked.  
"Blackheart's gone guys." Gold said, "Ladies?"

"Because she paid me." Stevie said, not hearing Gold.

"It could have been a representative of your employer." Widow Black said.

"Oh yeah then how do you explain the signature on my cheques?" Stevie asked. "Miss N. Greenwald sounds like a pretty feminine name to me. Of course, if you know different…"

"GUYS! THE CORPSE HAS GONE!" Gold said.

"WHAT?" Everyone yelled as they turned around and saw that indeed Blackheart was gone.

"I thought you said he was dead." Kestrel said to Stevie.  
"Well he slumped over and fell on the floor, he looked dead to me." Stevie said sheepishly.

"That's your definition of dead?" Stacy asked. "In that case most of my customers die every night."

"I've noticed something." Jerkov said, as he examined the chair and the carpet beside it. "There's no bullet hole. In fact, there isn't even any blood."

"Maybe he fired a gun in the dark to distract us." Lionheart said, "Hell, maybe he was the one who turned out the lights."

"Shouldn't we look for him?" Ms. Kestrel said, "He could try to escape."

"No chance of that." Stevie said. "I locked us all in here."

"What did you do THAT for?" Mr. Gold yelled.

"Because my instructions were to lock all the doors when everyone was here." Stevie said.

"Terrific." Jerkov said in exasperation. He could not believe this guy. "You locked us in here with the man who is blackmailing us, and he can't escape. Don't you see now he'll panic and probably try to kill us?"

"Why would he do that?" Stacy asked. "I mean, he's blackmailing us, we're not gonna tell as we have too much to lose."

"A desperate man doesn't think straight." Lionheart said, "Self preservation will be his number one priority. I'm an egotistical bastard, I know what I'm talking about."

"So you admit it?" Madam Rogue asked.

"Hey, I've got lots to be egotistical about." Lionheart replied arrogantly.

With that a large crashing sound reverberated through the house.

"What the hell was that?" Widow Black gasped. She nearly peed herself when the shot went off and was still feeling a little jumpy. Not that she was going to let any of these jerks know that.

"It sounded like it came from the kitchen." Stevie said, "Victoria's in there!"

"Victoria?" Lionheart asked. "That the cook?"

"Yes. She's also the ex-girlfriend I was with that night." He elaborated. "My employer probably arranged for her to be here too."

"Well we'd better see what it is." Gold said.

The first thing that struck them upon entering the kitchen was the number of smashed dishes, which were strewn all over the floor. That must have been the source of the noise they heard. The second thing was that there was no-one there.  
"That's odd." Kestrel said, "These dishes didn't smash themselves, someone had to be here."

Stevie felt more than a little nervous. He headed towards the back of the kitchen where the back door of the house was. It was firmly locked. He saw the windows were barred, so no one could have left that way. He suspected she might have left when they were still in the study, but in that case how did the dishes get knocked over?

He then headed over back to the kitchen door, and peered behind it, feeling like an idiot. But it was better to be sure. This left only two places anyone could be. The large walk in pantry was one. But that search proved fruitless; apart from a few apples and bananas. That only left one place… the freezer. The extremely over-sized, walk in freezer. But, there was no oxygen in there; you either froze to death or suffocated. Still, Victoria wasn't known for her rational thinking.

He slowly pulled open the door, hoping his instincts were wrong. But alas, like before, he was spot on. There she was, and it didn't look like an accident. She was kinky, but even she wouldn't have been sick enough to impale herself on a meat hook. Though it looked as if the perpetrator left her dangling there to suffocate rather ending her pain. The amount of blood on the floor indicated it was a slow, drawn out death. A murder in fact. A bloody murder in fact.


	3. splitting up

It's murder at the top chapter three

"My God." Gold said. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Do you think Blackheart did this?" Kestrel asked, sounding terrified.

"No." Lionheart said sombrely. "Look at the floor. She took a while to die. Blackheart couldn't have left until a few moments ago."

"Get her off there!" Stevie said, beginning to shake. Ok, things had been rough, but at one time he truly loved this mad woman. Seeing her hanging like that was wrong, just so wrong. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy. Although sometimes he joked, she had never been that.

Jerkov looked at Lionheart, and the two of them moved forward to remove the body. They unhooked her, and took her body over and lay it on top of the kitchen table. As Jerkov was straightening out her limbs, he caught a glimpse of a piece of paper.

"A note!" He said.

"Well it's hardly a suicide note." Widow Black said. She was met with cold stares.  
"Lady," Rouge said, "Your sarcasm is grating at best, now it is totally misplaced."

"I'm not trying to be facetious." Black said, "It a defence mechanism, I'm scared. Ok? I'm just… scared." Her voice was slightly shaky.

Mister Gold, having recovered, tentatively put his hand on her shoulder. Instead of snapping at him, she actually looked grateful.

"What does it say?" Stevie said. His voice was barely recognisable, overcome with shock, horror and grief.

Jerkov read the note, "I lost my love. I'm simply returning the favour. You will all pay." He looked puzzled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that someone intends to kill us all." Stacy said, flatly.

The sombre silence was shattered when the doorbell rang. They looked shocked.  
"Well, they can't come in, we're locked in." Gold said.  
"I have a key." Stevie said.  
"Well then what are we all doing here, let's leave the body and run!" Widow Black said, returning to normal.

"We can hardly do that with our blackmailer still running around." Jerkov said.  
"Not only that, but a killer is in the house, we need to catch them and stop them now." Lionheart said, "If we get out and they get out, we'll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders."

"So do we open the door or just ignore them?" Kestrel asked. The bell kept on ringing.

"Well it seems they're not going anywhere." Stevie said, as he rummaged for the key. "It's probably that psychotic evangelist again."

The man at the door looked less like a man and more like someone had shaved a gorilla and stuck it in a suit two sizes too small. His bugging eyes and hunched shoulders did nothing to dispel the impression.

"HI!" The man yelled. "CAN I USE YOUR PHONE?" He shouted, making it sound more like a threat than a request.  
"Certainly sir." Stevie said, nervously. The fact the stranger had grabbed Stevie by the lapels and was holding him at least two inches off the ground may have contributed to his agreement. "There's a phone just through the doorway."

"DO YOU HAVE A MORE PRIVATE LINE? I DON'T WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW MY BUSINESS!" The man roared.

"There's one in the library you can use." Stevie said, "If sir could put me down I will show him it." He regretted this as the Neanderthal dropped him instantly.

"MY CAR BROKE DOWN!" The man said, a little more quietly. People in the next county could probably still hear him, but only if they were already awake. "BUT IT WASN'T MY FAULT!"

"Of course sir." Stevie said, as he gestured towards the library. The man stomped into the room, shutting the doors behind him. Stevie then produced the master key and quickly locked the door. He turned and was met by Widow Black.

"What the hell did you let that monster in for?" Widow Black demanded.

"Oh, I don't know." Stevie said sarcastically, "The fact he was holding me off the ground with one hand while screaming in my face."

"Yeah, he has no concept of volume control." Widow Black said. There was a brief silence.

"Really?" Stevie said, "And you know this how?"

"You know my secret." Widow Black said, "I couldn't have done it alone."

"That… person is your accomplice?" Stevie asked.  
"He was, but I haven't seen him for years." Widow Black said. "He looks different. I wouldn't have recognised him if it hadn't been for the yelling."

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious he should turn up now?" Stevie said. "It's a very convenient excuse."

"You think I'm lying about not seeing him?" Black demanded.

"No, but then I hadn't seen Victoria in years either." Stevie said, "It's obvious my employer is playing some sick game with us. I think it's time we had an emergency meeting."

"HELLO IS THAT THE SHERRIFF?" the hulking man could be heard yelling. "HEY STEVE, MY CAR BROKE DOWN AGAIN, CAN YOU PICK ME UP? WHAT DO YOU MEAN STOP YELLING? I'M NOT YELLING, I NEVER YELL! WHY DOES EVERYONE ACCUSE ME OF YELLING! IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"

Black and Stevie looked at each other shocked. The last thing they needed was the cops snooping around.

"About that meeting?" Black asked.  
"Lounge, now." Stevie replied.

"It seems things just keep getting better." Stevie began, "Not only is there a dead body, but the police will be here shortly."

"The guy at the door was a motorist." Widow Black said, "Guess who he called to come pick him up?"

"Well most people wouldn't phone a sheriff." Mr. Gold said.

"Most people aren't related to the sheriff." Widow Black replied, "But he is."

"You know him?" Madam Rouge said.

"Yes," Black said. "He was my accomplish and my ex. lover, but that's neither here nor there…"

"Actually it might be." Lionheart said, "Remember the note? I lost my love; I'm returning the favour? Maybe someone brought him here to kill him!"

"Please." Black said, "He was a **lover** not a love. He was… passable in bed, had this obsession with toes, but when I mentioned the idea of having kids he went ape shit."

"I think we're getting away from the point." Ms. Kestrel began, "Blackheart and the killer are still on the loose. You said you locked this guy in the library, no problem. We should split into groups and search the house."

"And the quicker the better if the cops are coming." Jerkov mentioned.

"There are four floors in this house." Stevie said, "Attic, first floor, second floor, basement. So I think there should be a group for each floor. There are eight of us; therefore we should split into pairs. How do we work out who goes with who?"

"We should draw straws." Madam Rouge said.

Lionheart produced a pen and paper, "Right, any particular kind?"

"Very witty." Madam Rouge said, as she rolled her eyes.

Stevie came over with eight of the long matches used for lighting the fires in the house. Each was about ten inches long. "It's simple, two uncut, then two with about a quarter cut off, two with half cut off them, and two with three quarters cut off." He turned his back and proceeded to cut the matches into their lengths. He then bundled them together, and held his two hands one on top of the other, with the matches clutched in his fists.

"You draw two the same length, you're a pair." He explained, before adding, "And you can't swap partners. Whoever gets the longest attic, next longest top floor and so on."

Slowly one at the time everyone drew straws. The pairs were thus: Stacy and Mr. Gold (attic), Kestrel and Lionheart (cellar), Rouge and Jerkov (ground floor) leaving Black and Stevie (upper floor.)

"Ok." Stevie said, "We'll meet back here in an hour." He said aloud, thinking to himself, "If we survive that long."

Just as they were prepared to split up, the house was plunged into darkness.

"Hold on a second." Stevie said, "I'll check the fuses." He headed towards a cupboard, and opened the door. Immediately a bucket, two mops and several brooms fell out on top of him. Somewhere in the dark, he heard a snicker. He knew too well it was Widow Black. Bitch.

He quickly straightened up and tried another door. It finally occurred to him that since he was dark he couldn't see anything in the cupboard.

He turned around sheepishly to the others, and requested a light. Mister Gold handed his lighter over, and Stevie then used it to examine the box.

"I suspect sabotage!" He said.

"Who's that?" Kestrel asked.

"It's not a person it's a thing." Stevie replied.

"Just fix the fuses." Rouge snapped.

"I would, but it looks like the entire fuse box has been burned out!" Stevie replied, "can't you smell the burnt wires?"

"I thought it was Lionheart's cheap aftershave." Said Rouge, just beating Lionheart to the jump, as he was about to say it was her cheap perfume.

Ignoring them, Steve continued to rummage around the cupboard. "There's a backup generator; it should cut in shortly."

"I hope." He thought to himself, trying to recall if the generator's oil tank was full or not. "Ah ha!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I knew that they had to be here."

"What is it?" Stacy asked.

"Candles." Stevie replied, "and there's two torches as well. This'll do. Two groups have a torch. We can all have candles. Since I found them, I will take one of the torches."

"Yoink!" Ms. Kestrel exclaimed as she grabbed the other torch. "I'm not going into any creepy cellar with just a couple of candles, especially with this jackass. He'll probably try something on the second I get down there."

"Lady," Lionheart said, "your virtue is a hundred percent save with me."

"But if I carry a candle, the wax will run and burn me." Stacy complained, "My skin is so delicate."

"We DO have candle sticks in the house." Gold commented, "And even if there weren't one of us conveniently brought one with them. So no-one skin's going to get burnt by hot wax."

Madam Rouge was about to speak, but Gold interrupted, "I am perfectly aware that there are some sad and sorry individuals who pay money for the dubious pleasure of having hot wax dripped onto their naked flesh. So would you please drop the innuendos, the smutty comments and the down right perversion for a millisecond?"

"Spoilsport." She huffed.

Stevie could feel a headache coming on. It was painful, they were acting like brats. Not even that, they were acting like wrestlers in a half-baked, overly drawn out storyline. And like wrestling storylines, instead of getting on with the action, they were dithering about for ages.

"Let's get on with it!" Stevie snapped. Just then there was a loud knock from the library.

"LET ME OUT!" the Motorist roared, "I'M LOCKED IN AND THERE'S NO POWER! BUT IT WASN'T MY FAULT!"

"Oh for God's sake." Jerkov said, snatching some candles and a box of matches. He held out his other hand and Stevie wordlessly handed over the key. Jerkov unlocked the library and shoved the candles and matches into the motorist's arms.

"There you go, I know it wasn't your fault, good evening!" He said before he slammed the door and locked it, and placed the key in his own pocket.  
"Hum, hum." Stevie coughed, holding out his hand.  
"What?" Jerkov asked.

"They key." Stevie said.

"Sorry, force of habit." Jerkov said as he gave the key over.

"Sure." Stevie said.

In any decent horror movie, the cellar is dark and dank. You go down rickety, unsteady stairs, and there are cobwebs. This is bad enough, but others then throw in additional dripping water, scurrying rats, spiders, or hidden monsters. Whoever designed this cellar was obviously a fan of said movies, as virtually all those features were there. But it appeared he felt he needed to take it a step further, as Kestrel and Lionheart saw, to their collective disbelief.

"It's a maze!" Lionheart commented. "Who the hell has a maze in their cellar?"

"That guy in history!" Kestrel remarked. "The one who was a bull."

"A guy was a bull?" Lionheart asked, surprised.  
"Well, he wasn't really a bull, he was a god." Kestrel continued, "Now, here's were it gets weird. He wanted to seduce a mortal woman; I think she was a king's wife, so he turned himself into a bull. She then dressed like a cow and had sex with him."

Lionheart's eyes bulged. "I always knew royalty had kinks, but cow sex?"

"Well it was ages ago." Kestrel said.

"And that makes all the difference?" asked Lionheart totally bemused.

"So anyway, after she had sex with the bull, she had a baby." Kestrel continued.

"Let me guess, it was a calf." Lionheart interrupted, thinking he was getting somewhere.

"Close enough." Kestrel said, "The baby was half man, half bull. Namely bull's head, human body."  
"So he was bull-headed, eh?" Lionheart joked.  
"Oh, how witty." Kestrel sneered sourly, "So anyway, the King didn't like this, for obvious reasons, so he trapped it in an underground maze. And every seven years he fed it seven princes and princesses."

"It was a FLESH-EATING cow headed calf boy?" Lionheart said. "I thought they were vegetarian?"

"Well it was an adult by this stage." Kestrel said.

"But these were princesses and princes from other kingdoms, right?" Lionheart asked. He was beginning to get more then a little bit perturbed by this conversation.

"Yes." Kestrel said, "He forced them to pay tribute. So I think this maze could be a trap."

"You think, that down in this maze, there is a cow headed calf man who eats princes and princesses?" Lionheart asked. "O-K. And people said I was crazy."

"Well I think there is a Greek pattern here." Kestrel said.

"What, nude athletes buggering each other?" Lionheart asked.

"Not that kind of pattern, idiot!" Kestrel said. This guy was actually a doctor? "Listen, in the play Antigone, the title character was entombed in a wall, but instead of suffocating she was hung until she died. It seems that whoever killed Victoria adapted that slightly. Now you and I are stuck down here outside a maze, which is also from Greek literature."

"How do you know so much about Greek mythology?" he asked Kestrel.

"Simple, I have a mind and I didn't waste it." Kestrel snapped.

"Well," Lionheart said, ignoring the insult, "I have an easy solution to our problem. We don't go into the maze. If someone else wants to get eaten by a calf-headed cow man, they can."

"It was called the Minotaur!" Kestrel corrected, pedantically.

"I don't care if he was called Elmer!" Lionheart snorted, "We are getting the hell out of here."

The two turned around, to retrace their steps. After a few minutes, something caught their attention. Namely, the stairs had disappeared.

"OK," Lionheart said, "I am now officially freaked out."

"Looks like we're going into the maze after all." Kestrel said. "After you Doctor."

"No, ladies first!" Lionheart said. "Wait, I've just thought of something."

"Be careful, you might get an aneurysm." Kestrel said nastily.

"What if we get lost?" Lionheart asked. "And we need to get out but we can't? Isn't the point of mazes to confuse and lose you?"

"Well if I remember correctly," Kestrel said, "in the tale of the Minotaur, they found their way through the maze by tying a thread to the entrance, and after defeating the Minotaur they followed it back out. Unfortunately, we don't have any thread."

"Would yarn do?" Lionheart asked.

"I suppose so." Kestrel said, "Do you have yarn?"

"No," Lionheart said, "But you do."

Kestrel looked at him. He was looking at her with a smirk on her face. What was he up to? Then she realised he wasn't looking at her, but what she was wearing.

"No way!" She snapped.

"Look," Lionheart said, "The only way we can get to another exit is going through the maze. And it happens your dress is made of yarn. And look, it's starting to unravel there."

"Where?" She asked.  
"There!" he said, reaching forward and tearing the hem. "See?" he said, giving it a yank. "Yarn."

"Only to get us out of here," said Kestrel, praying it was going to be a short maze. And wishing that she had put underwear on before she came.


	4. Further discoveries

Murder at the top 

Having reached the stairs leading to the attic, Stacy and Mister Gold hesitated. It looked dark, creaky, and unsafe. The architect of this house must have been a sadistic bastard.

"Ok, heads or tails?" Gold asked.

"Heads or tails?" Stacy asked.

"For who wants to go first." Gold explained, "Unless you want to go first?"

"Heads." Stacy said.

Gold flipped a coin. He looked at it. "Best two out of three?" he asked. He flipped it again. Crap, heads again! He then realised he had used his "lucky" double headed coin.

"How about you pick tails this time?" Gold suggested.

"Heads." Stacy said, getting suspicious.

"Alright, I'll go first." Gold sighed. "But if I'm eaten by anything I'll have you know I firmly believe in an afterlife, and I shall haunt you till your dying day. Nothing personal, but I do have my principles."

"Ok, if you die I'm perfectly fine with you haunting me." She said, humouring him. She knew that apart from dust bunnies the size of King Kong there was nothing even remotely scary up there. Obviously this dweeb read way too many horror magazines. Come to think of it, he reminded her of her nerdy cousin Greg. Spent all his time reading comics. Nothing wrong with that, except he was thirty-one, and he had a nervous breakdown if his latest issue was more then a minute late in the shop. He was always taking his nerdiette girlfriends to horror shows in the hopes that in their blind terror he could comfort them. But more often than not, he ended up blubbering on their shoulder.

Gold started climbing the stairs, nervously. Oh God, it was just like the stairs up to Grandmother's attic at home. He remembered the time his brother Eric, the bastard, lured him there and locked him in. It was two days before they found him, by which time he'd eaten his shoes, and was reduced to making friends with cockroaches. Of course, the two faced liar claimed he had no idea he was in there. But he knew, and one of these days…

By now Mr. Gold was in the attic proper. By the flickering candlelight, he looked around. There were cobwebs and dust bunnies, and an old trunk. He decided to investigate it. You never know, Blackheart could have been hiding in it. Or, in a more optimistic note, he could find an old treasure worth a fortune. He was due some luck. He tried the chest.

"What are you doing?" Stacy whined from behind him.

"I'm checking this chest." Gold explained.

"It's probably locked." Stacy said.

Gold tried the chest, and surprisingly it was open. He leaned over to take a look, but before he could see what was in it; the lights returned.

"Ah, the generator's kicked in at last." Stacy remarked. "Since he's not here maybe we should head back downstairs."

"OK." Said Gold. He was still curious about what was in the chest. Perhaps he could come back later for it. As soon as they stepped out of the attic, the lights went back off. There was a general crash and much swearing as the two fell down the ladder.

"Ouch! My spleen!" Gold asked. There was a pause. "Wait! Ms. Kestrel sleeps with other women!"

At approximately the same time, Rogue and Jerkov were inside the mansion's conservatory.

"Hey, an indoor greenhouse." The Major said. This description was pretty accurate, as the glass walled room was full of a variety of plants.

"It's a conservatory." Rouge said, snottily.

"And what's the difference?" Jerkov asked, "apart from the name?"

Rouge paused. Damn, he had her there. She had to think of something. She glanced around, noticing a table and cane furniture.

"You can sit in a conservatory, have tea and admire the plants." Rouge hastily said.

"You can do that in a greenhouse." Jerkov said. "So basically this is a snooty greenhouse with ideas above its station. And furniture."

Rogue eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." She snapped.

"Well you'd know since you've been using it all night." Jerkov replied. "Do you hear Glen Miller?"

"What?" Rogue asked. "What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one." Jerkov said, "Because I swear I can hear "In the Mood."

Rogue paused. Oddly enough, she could hear the music; and it was coming from the direction of a large blue and white flower.

"It's coming out of that flower!" She exclaimed. "What the hell kind of house is this?"

Jerkov walked towards the plant. "Actually, the music is coming from a radio."

"A radio?" Rouge asked. "But where is it?"

"On a shelf, behind this flower." Jerkov gestured. "No weirdness involved, merely batteries."

Rouge looked slightly embarrassed at being caught out in foolishness. She decided not to say, "I knew that." as from the expression on Jerkov's face that was what he wanted her to say. She settled for a simple, "Oh." Instead. She then asked, "Why would someone have a radio in a conservatory?"

"Well," the Major began, "there is this dumb theory that playing music near plants helps them to grow." He then noticed that there was a door leading to the outside of the mansion.

"Say, why don't we try and make a run for it?" He asked. "I mean, the others are bound to find Blackheart, right?"

"I don't think that's wise." Rouge said, gesturing. Jerkov saw that the dogs had somehow got loose from their chains. They caught sight of Rouge and Jerkov and growled viciously.

"I see your point. " Jerkov said.

Another convention of the horror genre, or science fiction for that matter, is for any radio to suddenly be interrupted by a news bulletin, which details some events that move the plot onward. Now, this did not occur immediately in this instance, instead it waited for the song to end.

"We interrupt this programme to bring you a newsflash." The voice begun, "It has just been announced that mental patient Alex Myer is still on the loose. The suspect shot by the police two days ago has been identified as Nurse Gale Kemme, who is believed to have abetted the escape. This means that Myer is still on the loose. The public are warned this person is deluded and dangerous, and are warned not to let any strangers into their homes, and to be vigilant. A description follows-"

Conveniently, or not, it was at that moment that the batteries in the radio ran out. The radio spluttered and then died.

"What happened?" Jerkov said, panicking. "What about the description?"

"The batteries have died." Rouge said.

Jerkov turned to her, "we have to see if there's another radio in the house."

"By the time we find one, the description will have ended." Rouge said.

"Yes, but there's a killer on the loose." Jerkov said, "It could be someone in the house."

"It IS someone in the house." Rogue said, "Remember the dead body?"

"Ok, there's a mental patient on the loose!" Jerkov began, beginning to lose his nerve, "They could be in the house, as well as the killer. Or the killer could be the mental patient, or there could be two killers! They said not to let strangers into your home; this house is full of strangers! And we let that weirdo in! Ah! War flashback! War flashback!" He put his hands on his ears and began to rock back and forth.

Suddenly there was an explosion of pain in the side of his face and a loud crack.

"Pull yourself together." Rogue said, slapping him senseless.

"Oh! Damn it! Stop! Hitting! Me! " Jerkov moaned.

"But you're supposed to hit people who are hysterical." Said Rouge, sounding a bit hysterical herself.

"I'm not hysterical." Jerkov yelled.

"But you sound hysterical, you're voice sounds high pitched." Rouge said.

"I'm not going to reply to that." Jerkov commented, and grabbed her wrist as she swung for him again. "I am not longer hysterical, you don't need to slap me." He said, before threatening, "Unless you want one back."

"Don't you threaten me!" Rogue said, in the tone of voice reserved for phrases like, "Take that you bounder!" or "Unhand me you fiend!" It is odd to note that people think if they say a phrase in a particular voice it makes it more effective.

"You're the one who needs to calm down." Jerkov said, "I think we should go back, and inform the others; of the possibility we have just locked an escaped lunatic in the library. Maybe someone else heard that broadcast and has a description. Ok?"

Rouge took several deep breaths, calming down again. "Sorry about that."

'As am I." Jerkov responded.

"Maybe we should get the Widow and Stevie, they're on the next floor." Rouge said.

"What about Lionheart and Kestrel?" Jerkov said, "they're in the basement."

"And they can stay down there for all I care." Rogue said. "I don't do basements."

"Whatever." Jerkov said, then he paused. "Hold on, what would you have done if you got the basement match?"

"This." She said, opening her handbag. Inside were several matches of different lengths.

"You sneaky little vixen." Jerkov said, admiringly.

"Hey," Rogue replied, 'my mother didn't raise any dumb kids."

**IS THE KILLER IN THE HOUSE? WHAT WAS IN THE CHEST? WHAT OTHER CONTRIVANCES WILL THE AUTHOR PULL? ALL THIS AND LESS COMING SOON.**


	5. Let the bodies hit the floor

MURDER AT THE TOP 

The Motorist was getting bored. He started wandering around the library. There wasn't much to look at; just stacks of books, mostly out of reach, and they probably didn't have any pictures in them, so that would be a waste of his time. The drawers in the tables were locked, so he couldn't look in it and the fruit was made of wax. But at least there was something to drink. Unless the decanter was full of coloured water, which was probably would be, knowing his luck.

He removed the top and sniffed it. No, it was whiskey! He took a quick swig, pretty nice. But it was awkward drinking out of the decanter because the rim was so broad. And anyway, this was a posh joint. He had to remember his manners. He noticed a glass sitting on a tray. Problem sorted.

He filled the glass to the brim, and quickly guzzled it down. Suddenly his mouth was on fire; as toxins began to work their way through his body. He attempted to croak out "Help." But he collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing.

Things were not going well on the upper level of the house. Stevie could safely say given the pick of partners from the pool available, his last choice was Widow Black. It was just his luck then to be lumbered with her. She made him itch between the shoulder blades. The more time went on, he was convinced that not only did God exist, but he had it in for him.

Stevie came to a stop opposite one of the bedroom doors. As she had been checking behind her, the Widow banged into him. Stevie couldn't help meeping like a little girl, a fact that she lost no time whatsoever in pointing out.

"My God!" She exclaimed, "Why couldn't I been partnered with a MAN, rather then a girly wimp like you?"

"Because none of the men in this house are dumb enough to spend as much as an eighth of a second in your company, lady!" Stevie exclaimed.

"So, you admit you're not a real man." She sneered. "You could always tell."

"Save your insults for those who give a damn." Stevie retorted. He had gotten beyond caring what the bride of Frankenstein thought of him.

Black scowled. Why wasn't he fighting back, or trembling before her? That was how most men reacted. This indifference was downright insulting.

"Have you any idea who I am?" She demanded, falling back on the stuck up bitch air that she'd noticed Madam Rouge using.

Stevie sighed, and turned around, shaking his head sadly at her. "Miss Dumas, since I have read your file, I know precisely who you are. So why don't you just drop the act and help me search this floor so we can get the hell out of this morgue?"

Black bit her lip undecided for a moment. "Are you suggesting a truce?"

"Yes." He said, extending his hand. After a second, she reluctantly shook it, resisting the urge to try and crush his fingers.

"Ok, for the moment." She said. "How about you check the rooms on this side, and I'll check the other side?"

"Fair enough, but I should warn you." Stevie began, "I don't think these rooms have been cleaned for a long time, so expect lots of dust and cobwebs. There could even be mice for all I know."

"You think I'm afraid of mice?" She began, a bit insulted. "Get a grip."

"Fine." Stevie snapped. "Only tried to warn you the rooms will be in a bit of a state."

"There's a killer on the loose and you think I'm gonna be worried about a bit of dust?" Black replied.

"I see your point." Steve smiled, sheepishly. "Do you want the torch or a candle?"

"Torch." She quickly replied.

"Figures." Stevie muttered, handing it over. Just then the lights came on again.

"Better keep these handy." Stevie said, "I don't how long that generator will last."

Each of them moved to the first door on their side of the corridor.

"Count of three then we go in." Stevie said.

"Three it is." Black responded.

"Ok, one… two…"

At three each reached for the doorknob and opened it. The rooms beyond were dark, and the furniture covered in sheets. Each of them glanced back to make sure the other was actually going into the room. They then disappeared inside. After a few minutes of blundering about, each re-entered the corridor, considerably dirtier then they were when they entered.

"Don't think you have to worry about mice." Announced Widow Black, "The spiders and cockroaches would have finished them off."

"I did warn you." Stevie said.

"Fine, second door it is then." They were just about to enter when they heard what sounded like voices coming from the second door on the left side.

"There's someone in there." Stevie said.  
"It could be Blackheart." Black said.

"Not unless he had elocution lessons." Stevie said, "this person sounds too… educated to be him."

"Well, don't just sound there, go check!" Black said.  
"Ladies first." Stevie said, gesturing, "Besides, it is on your side of the corridor."

"Oh, what a hero." Black said as she entered. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She exclaimed.

"What is it?" Stevie asked, following her.

"Someone left a radio on." She replied.

The two of them listened to what the radio voice was saying, "I repeat, the escaped mental patient Alex Myer is extremely deranged and dangerous. On no account approach yourself. Notify your local police authorities on sight. And now I return you to Mellow Melodies, a program of dance music." At that, the radio fell silent, as this was the moment the electricity died again.

"An escaped mental patient?" Black said, "Terrific. A murdering lunatic inside, another on the outside."

"You don't know that." Stevie said, "For all we know that could be happening on the other side of the country."

"Except for one thing." Black said, "That's a local radio station. I usually listen to mellow melodies when it's on."

"Oh crap." Stevie said.

"Oh crap indeedy." Black said.  
"Well, you have two more rooms, I have three. After that, I suggest we meet up with the others." Stevie said. "That is if the murderous lunatic doesn't catch up with us."

"Which one?" Black said sarcastically.

"Ha." Stevie replied. "Besides, what are the chances of that lunatic being in the house?"

"Oh great." Jerkov said nervously. "This proves there is a chance that lunatic is in the house!"

The final room on the ground floor turned out to be a billiard room, complete with two tables, overhead lights, a dartboard and floor to ceiling curtains, one of which was billowing.

Further inspection showed this was due to the fact that (a) the window was slightly open and (b) the glass was broken. There was also a rather large and meaty bone lying on the floor.

"I don't want to know why this is here." Rouge commented. "Hold on," she began "Blackheart could have snuck out this way."

"Not a chance." The Major said. "He'd still have to go past the dogs, and even if they didn't get him, they would have made enough noise to wake the dead."

"Hold on then." Rouge said, "Then that lunatic couldn't be in here either because the dogs would have kicked up too."

"You're right." Jerkov said, "what a relief."

"Well close the window and come on." Rouge said.

"What's the point?" He said, 'It won't stop the wind blowing through the broken pane."

"Just shut the window." She ordered.

"Maybe we should check on that motorist." Jerkov said.

"I bet you he says it wasn't his fault in the first ten seconds we enter." She said.  
"I don't make sucker bets." Jerkov replied.

Before they could investigate any further, a loud knock was heard on the door.

"That wouldn't be the sheriff already?" Jerkov asked.  
"Could be." Rouge said. "We better answer it."

"How can we?" Jerkov asked. "HEY STEVIE!" he yelled. "SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!"

Stevie was about to enter the final room on his side when he heard the Major. He turned to Widow Black, who had finished searching her rooms and was attempting to brush cobwebs out of her hair.

"I better see who that is." He stated, "Could you check this room for me?"

"Fine, fine." Black snapped ungraciously.

Stevie hurried down the steps as quickly as he could, and hastily unlocked the door. A massive figure stood, back lit by the moon. Stevie raised his candlestick, and the figure lunged into the lighted area. It had wild hair, a shaggy beard, maniac grin and wild staring eyes.

"Eh, good…evening?" Stevie ventured. Jerkov looked over his shoulder, taking in the glint of the figure's eyes, the missing ear and the general aura of insanity.

"ARGH!" Jerkov yelled. "IT'S THE ESCAPED LUNATIC! SHUT THE DOOR! WE'LL ALL BE MURDERED IN OUR BEDS!"

"And I thought Mr. Gold was a wuss." Stevie commented.

"Hey!" Mr. Gold said as he and Stacy came down the stairs. Madam Rouge slammed the door in the figure's face and quickly put the bolt across.

"Why'd you do that?" Stacy asked.

"Didn't you hear the radio?" Jerkov asked.  
"What radio?" Gold asked.

"The radio in the conservatory." Rouge explained.

"Well, we were in the attic." Stacy said, "So the chances of us hearing something in the conservatory are very slim, wouldn't you say?"

"We heard about that too." Stevie said. "It said someone named Alex Myer had escaped an asylum." Then it dawned on him. 'You don't think that guy was him?"

"Let me think." Rouge began sarcastically, "Maniac eyes, hulking shape dressed in rags, wild hair, missing body parts, maniac grin, nah, no way."

"Thank heavens for that." Said Stacy.

"I was being facetious." Rouge said.

The person began to pound madly at the door. "IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES LET ME IN!" he screamed.

"He's threatening us." Jerkov exclaimed.

Suddenly a piercing scream rent the air.

"Oh my God!" Stevie said, "That sounded like…"

"WIDOW BLACK!" They chorused, tearing up the stairs.

The top corridor was deserted, all the doors firmly closed.

"Where is she?" Rouge asked.

"We were checking these rooms." Stevie said, "I only had one more room to check on the right side of the corridor, but when I went to open the door, she was looking into it."

"We don't need a recap of everything you did!" Jerkov snapped, "just tell us which goddamn door it is."

"Last on the right." Stevie said, then stepped smartly back so someone else could check it.

Mr. Gold surprisingly enough marched up and turned the door handle.

"It's locked." He said, confused.

"That's impossible." Stevie said. "It was open two seconds ago, all the doors were open, and I'm the only person who has a key."

"Are you sure you didn't "accidentally" lock the door after pushing the Widow in?" Madam Rouge said in an accusing tone.

"I didn't lock the door." Stevie said, "As far as I know, none of these bedroom doors lock."

"Well never mind." Gold said, "It is locked now. So any ideas on how to open it?"

"Bust it down!" Jerkov said. "The usual military approach. If it's in your way, roll straight on over it."

"How would you know?" Stevie asked, "I read your file too. You deserted."

Jerkov looked as though he was trying to think of a smart answer, and was having real trouble.

"Ok, everybody step back." Stacy said. She dusted herself down, cracked her knuckles and began to move her neck. She then turned and ordered, "Gold, smash the door down."

Mr. Gold readied himself, before taking a short run up and smashing his shoulder into the door. There was a moment's silence, followed by the sound of whimpering coming from the floor.

"Well that was a lot of use." Stevie said.

"Perhaps more than one person needs to charge it." Rogue suggested.

"I agree." Gold said, clutching his shoulder. "If I'm going to be in agony, everybody else should be too."

"Very well." Stevie said, "Major, shall we?"

"On the count of three." Jerkov said. "One, two, two and a half, two and three quarters… three!"

The two men charged and smashed their shoulders into the door. The door shuddered but remained closed.  
"And again!" Stevie said, another shudder, but the door remained still.

"Put your backs into it!" Stacy commanded.

On the third attempt, the door finally burst open, dumping Stevie and Jerkov onto the floor. The others crowded in, stepping over them.

The room was dark, dusty and unfurnished. It seemed to be smaller than other rooms in this corridor. There was also a horrid stink.

"What is that smell?" Gold asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Well it wasn't me." Jerkov said.

"She's not here." Stacy commented. "She must be in one of the other rooms."

"Why would she go back into one of the other rooms?" Said Stevie, getting back up to his feet. "She was only gonna check this one and then head downstairs."

Something dripped onto his neck. He reached back, and rubbed it. He checked his hand. It was a clear liquid, a little sticky.

"Must be a leak in the roof." He commented.

"But the attic's above us." Commented Mr. Gold, as liquid dripped onto his baldhead. He reached his hand up and felt it. It was the same liquid.

"There's something on the ceiling isn't there?" Stacy asked.

Rouge decided to look up. Just as she raised her head, several more drops of liquid dripped on her face. This time, it was red. She opened her mouth to scream, but more drops ran into it. She then realised it was the horrid taste of human blood.

Everybody looked up, they all screamed. They had found the Widow Black.

Kestrel and Lionheart felt they were getting near to the maze's centre. The twists and turns were getting tighter, with less side passages. This was much to Ms. Kestrel's relief, as she hadn't lost much material from her outfit. She broke off the loose bit of yarn.

"Never do that again." She threatened Lionheart.

"Hey, you suit a mini-skirt." He commented, "You have great legs."

Kestrel was silenced for a moment. Not sure whether his compliment was genuine or not. You couldn't tell with him. To cover this, she said, "Next time we use your clothes!"

"Why honey, want to see me nude?" Lionheart asked.

"Don't flatter yourself." Kestrel said. "You are not my type. For one thing, you have a dick."

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it." Lionheart replied.

Two more turns, and suddenly they were out in an open space. They had reached the centre of the maze. They weren't alone. The dark figure of Blackheart was on the other side of the maze. He took one look at them, before he started to dash back into the maze.

"There he is! After him!" Kestrel yelled. She was half way across the floor before she realised there was no one with her.

"Typical." She murmured to herself. She decided to continue the chase on her own.

She had just taken two more steps, when Blackheart appeared in front of her.

"Well, hello Lisa." He began, mockingly. "All on your own I see."

"Don't try to intimidate me, you little worm." Kestrel snapped. "Victoria was a friend of mine, and you murdered her."

"What?" Blackheart demanded, shocked.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." Kestrel said, "We found her body in the freezer."

"I didn't kill her." Blackheart said.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Kestrel said, "After all, you had no hesitation of blackmailing us all."

"Fair point. But, I don't bloody my hands." Blackheart said, "Especially on the hired help."

"Help?" Kestrel asked.

"Oh yes," Blackheart began, "I couldn't have blackmailed people without knowing what their secrets were to begin with. I have many agents. Victoria was most informative, especially about your dirty little secret."

"She would never do that!" Kestrel exclaimed, a little uncertainly.

"Oh, but she did." Blackheart. "Every little detail, even that birthmark."

Kestrel opened and closed her mouth, speechlessly. And Blackheart used her confusion to push her out of the way, and head back towards the maze. He intended on using the trail she had left to find his way back, and get the hell out while he could. If someone was getting rid of his informants, it would only be a matter of time before they came after him.

Before he could get far, Lionheart leapt out of a side aisle, and pinned him to the ground.

"Hurry up Kestrel, I've got him!" Lionheart yelled. Ms. Kestrel suddenly appeared, looking rather annoyed.

"Oh, so you're back." She snapped.

"Back?" Lionheart said, "I was lying in wait for him."  
"Sure." Kestrel said.

"Well I did more then you did." He replied. "What were you going to do? Nag him to death?"

"Victoria was working for him." Kestrel said.

"So is that why he killed her?" Lionheart asked.

"For the second, and last time, I did not kill her." Blackheart said. "She was working for me to pay off her own blackmail."

"Why were you blackmailing her?" Lionheart said.  
"Hey, it's what I do." Blackheart. "A guy's got to make a living some how."

"Just one thing." Lionheart said. "How did you get from the living room to here so fast?"

"There's a secret passageway." Blackheart said.

"Pardon?" Lionheart said. "That's just silly."

"Ok, so you can handle a maze in the basement, a spooky mansion on a hill and lots of blackmail and murder, but you can't have a secret passageway as that would be just too weird?" Kestrel asked.

"I'll even show you were it is." Blackheart said.

"How do we know you won't try to escape again?" Lionheart asked.

"Bind his hands." Kestrel suggested.

"What with?" Lionheart asked.

Kestrel suddenly yanked his shirt from his trousers and ripped a long strip from the bottom.

"I shouldn't have asked." Lionheart remarked.

Taking the material and binding Blackheart's hands together behind his back, they turned to him.

"OK, lead on." Kestrel said.

"It's the end of this corridor." Blackheart remarks. "You see that wall over there?" He nodded.

The wall in question was made of four long panels of wood. The three moved closer to it.

"It's behind that second panel." Blackheart said, as he moved in front of the third panel. "Just twist the candle stick to the left, he said, nodding vaguely."

Lionheart looked at the second panel. On either side of it was a candlestick. Lionheart reached for the left hand one. He tried to twist it, but nothing happened. He gave it a firm yank. Suddenly, the third panel shot up. There was a disgusting squishy noise. Lionheart looked across to see Blackheart being pinned to the wall by the horns of a golden Minotaur statue.

With his dying breaths, Blackheart said, "You idiot! I meant twist the candle stick to the left, not the left hand candle stick!"

"Sorry." Lionheart said, although by that stage Blackheart was already dead.

'What kind of a sicko lives here?" Kestrel asked. "I mean booby traps, the Greek motif again, mazes in the basement…"

She was interrupted by a creaking noise. Lionheart gazed out of the passageway, "Well are you coming or not?"

"What about him?" Kestrel asked.  
"Well he's not going anywhere." Lionheart replied. 'And personally, I want to get the hell out of here."

**WHO WAS THE MAN AT THE DOOR? WILL THEY DISCOVER THE MOTORIST'S BODY? IS OUR AUTHOR UPPING THE BODY COUNT JUST FOR KICKS? (YES.) IS THE ESCAPED LUNATIC IN THE HOUSE? WAIT AND SEE…**


	6. Exposition galore

MURDER AT THE TOP CHAPTER 6

"How the hell did she get up there?" Jerkov exclaimed. "And why's she all runny?"

"I'm gonna be sick!" Mr. Gold yelped, "I know I am."

"Looks like she was eaten or maybe dissolved by spiders." Stacy said, snapping her gum. "Gross or what?"

"OH GOD, I AM GOING TO BE SICK!" Mr. Gold said.

"Go ahead," Stevie said, "it will improve the smell."

"Shouldn't we get her down or something?" Madame Rouge asked. "She's dripping all over us?"

"How do you suggest we do that?" Stevie asked.

"We could get a spatula and scrape her off." Stacy said.

"SHUT UP!" Mr. Gold yelled, wiping his mouth after retching in the corner.

"A spatula wouldn't be big enough." Stevie said, then paused. "There's a snow shovel in the back porch.'  
"You are all gross." Jerkov said, disgusted. "That was a human being."

"Yeah but she was mean and killed her husbands and stuff." Madame Rouge remarked.

"Oh, so it's OK to kill people as long as they're bad guys, huh?" Mr. Gold said. "Typical immoral wrestling scum. You care about no-one but yourself."

"Hold on." Stacy suddenly intervened, "spiders are incredibly small, right? Or at least these ones are, so how could they kill her so quickly? We only heard the scream a few moments ago. And she looks like she's been dead for weeks."

"Poison." Stevie suggested, "Spiders often poison their victims, sometimes it takes less a minute for it to kill. And there were so many of them."

"Just one question," Jerkov said, "I couldn't help but wonder… what the fuck are we doing in a room with hundreds of probably acid spitting poisonous spiders!"

There was a general stampede for the door. Everyone got jammed in the doorway, but eventually they made it out.

"So, do you think it was murder?" Mr. Gold asked.

"We're not even going to reply to that." Stevie said, disbelieving Gold's stupidity.

"But enquiring minds want to know." Mr. Gold said.

"If enquiring minds don't belt up, they're going to get a black eye." Madame Rouge said.

"Since splitting up lead to another person's death," Stevie said, "maybe we should meet up again."

"We still haven't found Blackheart." Stacy commented.

"Maybe the others did." Jerkov said. "Maybe even as we speak, he is burying their horribly mutilated corpses in the cellar, where no shall ever find them, and… WAR FLASHBACK! WAR FLASHBACK!" I'M HYSTERICAL!" Jerkov said, taking another panic attack.

Mr. Gold stepped forward, and slapped Jerkov across the face. There was a pause.

"I'M IN PAIN!" Jerkov added. "I'M HYSTERICAL AND I'M IN PAIN!"

"Oh shut up you drama queen." Stevie said.

"Sorry." Jerkov said. "I just get emotional at times."

Meanwhile, Kestrel and Lionheart emerged from the ever clichéd bookcase that's really part of a secret passageway.

"Wow, what an exciting escape we had." Lionheart said, "Hope it wasn't cut out."  
"Yeah," Kestrel said, joining in on breaking the fourth wall, "the rats, the swinging pendulum and that image of a guy that kept breaking clocks over his head. Scared the hell out of me."

"What about the pitfalls with spikes in and the lowering ceiling?"

"Huh?" Kestrel asked.

"Oh sorry that was a different party." Lionheart said. The two suddenly heard a pounding at the door.

"That may be the sheriff." Lionheart said. "Better open the door."

"What are we going to say?" Kestrel said, "Come right in and pardon the corpses?"

"He doesn't need to know." Lionheart said, "All he has to do is pick up the moron that shouts all the time and take him home."

They opened the door.

"Come right in." Lionheart said, "he's over here in-" He then looked at the man. "Wait a minute, YOU'RE a Sheriff?"

"That's funny, I thought I was a doctor." The shady looking man replied. " Doctor Jack Love. I have a diploma and everything. Why are you expecting a Sheriff?"

"Um, why do you ask?" Lionheart said.

"Because, my good friend, I'm searching for a lunatic." The one-eared man said.  
"Then you came to the right house." Kestrel remarked. "Any particular lunatic, or just lunatics in general?"

"A raving murdering one that escaped from Stony Hill Asylum." Dr. Love said, "Alex Myer is the name. Surely you've heard the reports on the radio."

Kestrel and Lionheart exchanged looks. "Uh, can you give us a moment?" They slammed the door in his face.

"Well we know there's a murderer in here." Kestrel said, "What if it was this Myer guy?"

"Do you think a random psycho would go the lengths that this killer has?" Lionheart replied. "Besides, there's a couple of people in this house that have already killed, who's to say others haven't?"

"What?" Kestrel replied. "Who?"

"Us you stupid dyke!" Lionheart said. "Remember in the basement."

"Oh, I'm not the one that couldn't tell left from right." Kestrel snapped.

"All he said was pull the lever to the left, it was an easy mistake to make, he should have been more specific." Lionheart replied.

The door opened, as the lock hadn't caught. "You do realize I could hear every word you were saying?" Dr. Love remarked. "And it's pissing down out here, maybe I should come in and you can tell me about the corpses."

"Shit." The two said.

"Sure, you might as well." Kestrel said. "Promise not to kill us horribly."

"Oh I never kill horribly." Love said.

"Good enough." Lionheart said.  
Love walked in and shut the door." I'd just like to correct what Mr.-"

"Doctor actually." Lionheart replied. "I can't tell you my real name, but my code name is Dr. Lionheart."

"Oh," Love said, "I recognize you from that convention in Chicago, you're Chris-"

"Ssh!" Lionheart snapped. "Oh yeah. You're that guy who's almost as nuts as his patients."

"I resent that remark." Love said. "Just because my methods are a bit unorthodox."

"That's one way of describing making your patients talk to a dirty sock puppet and then shoving it down their throat until they promise to be sane."

"Hey at least I stopped threatening them with barbed wire." Love commented. "People don't appreciate my work."

"Sorry Doctor Love, you were saying?" Kestrel said.

"Oh yes." Love said. "Lionheart commented a random psycho wouldn't go to all this trouble. I assure you, Myer is far from random, and is quite capable of going to extraordinary lengths to make people suffer."

"Crap." Lionheart said. "What are the chances of this happening?"

"Pretty good actually." Love said. "This is Myer's house, which is why I'm here. It's been deserted for a long time, then all of a sudden, lights were on, sound and music, I had to investigate, because I'm sure the killings haven't stopped."

"Killing?" Lionheart said.

"Yes, Lionheart," Love said. "Seven murders so far, but there was always a twist. Some Egyptian, some Old Testament, never a straightforward shooting or stabbing. Always elaborate and weird."  
"Why didn't you just go the police?" Lionheart said.

"Ha." Love said, "They refuse to believe Alex would ever come back here. But I know the significance of this house to Alex. I spent many hours trying to reach the good person inside. But that person seems to have died a long time ago."

"Look, I like a bit of exposition but this is getting ridiculous." Lionheart said.

"WHO THE HELL LET THAT GUY IN!" Stacy yelled.

"Oh, you again." Love said.

"You've met before?" Kestrel said.

"Yeah, I knocked earlier and a bunch of people slammed it in my face." Love said. "I know I'm no looker, but damn."

"You're the psycho murderer." Exclaimed Stevie. 'We heard about you on the radio."

'Correction, you heard about my patient." Love said, "I'm Doctor Love."  
"Sounds like a crappy sex advice column." Madame Rouge insinuated.

"Oh, never heard THAT before." Love said, "I have a lot to tell you. Is this everyone in the house?"

Kestrel looked around, "Actually no, Widow Black is-"

"She's dead." Jerkov said. "Stuck to the ceiling in some kind of web, and very, very dead."

"She's oozing." Mr. Gold said. "Why did I just say that?" Gold said, grabbing his stomach.

"There's Blackheart." Stacy said.

"Lionheart killed him." Kestrel said.

"It was an accident." Lionheart said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, and he said he didn't kill Victoria." Kestrel said.

"Who, Lionheart?" Love asked.  
"No, Blackheart." Kestrel said, "On the upside, he said Victoria was collecting blackmail for him. So, no more blackmail for me."

"Wait." Love said, "You've been in this house for just, three, four hours, and there's already three dead bodies."

"Is this going to take long?" Mr. Gold groaned. "I need to sit down." Stevie handed him the key to the library. "Might as well go in there, as that way everyone in the house will be together, unless he starts shouting again."

Mr. Gold opened the door to the library. He groaned. "Four."

"What?" Stevie asked.  
"Four dead bodies." Mr. Gold said. "And you could have told me the Motorist was him."

"You know him?" Stevie asked.  
"I knew him. The jerk that was blackmailing me." Gold said, "He's dead."

There was a general rush into the library. They looked at the corpse, which had a protruding tongue and bulging eyes. They saw a glass tumbler on the floor beside him. Jerkov looked at him.

"Poisoned." Jerkov said, "It was probably the brandy."

"What makes you say that?" Stacy said.

"There's a little left in the glass and it's burning a hole in the carpet."

"Hmm," Love said, kneeling to examine the body, "blisters round the mouth too." Then there was a pause. "Hamlet!" He suddenly exclaimed.

There was a collective "Huh?" from the others.

"Hamlet, poisoned cup." Love said, "Alex Myer, the whacko I was after, sorry, the mentally disturbed individual, always kills in bizarre ways. Shakespeare is a favorite source of ideas. Tell me about the other corpses."

"Well," Kestrel said, "Blackheart is in the cellar, which by the way has a Labyrinth in it. Thanks by the way guys, he used material from my dress to find his way through it."  
"I thought your skirt was shorter." Jerkov commented.  
"And Blackheart." Lionheart said, "Was ACCIDENTALLY, impaled by a golden Minotaur statue."

"He only knew it was a Minotaur because I told him." Kestrel said, "He was calling it a cow man."

"Hmm. Greek theme." Love said, "That's a new one."

"Would that spiders that killed Widow Black be related to Greek stuff?" Stacy asked.

"Well, there is a black widow in one tale." Dr. Love said, "Though I can't remember which one. Also typical Alex, often gives you a death that relates to your name or personality."

"Well I don't see how Victoria ties in." Stevie said.  
"What happened to her?" Love inquired.

"She was hung on a meat hook in a meat locker." Jerkov said.

"I reckon it's Antigone." Kestrel said, "She was entombed in a vault, but chose to hang herself instead."

"Interesting." Love said. "Antigone is a Greek tragedy. Hamlet is a tragedy. Looks like ANOTHER pattern."

"Lovely." Mr. Gold said. "So does that mean we're all gonna die?"

"If I know Alex then yes." Love said abruptly.

"Oh thanks Doc." Madame Rouge said, "We feel so much better now."

"But what does this Alex have against you?" Love asked. "What's so special about you that would attract Alex's attention?"

**WILL THERE BE MORE CRAPPY EXPOSITION? WHAT IS SO SPECIAL ABOUT THEM? IS THIS THE WAY TO AMARILLO? ANSWERS MAY BE GIVEN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.**


	7. Group therapy

MURDER AT THE TOP PART SEVEN

"The only thing we have in common," Stevie began, "is that we are vaguely connected to wrestling."

"And we're being blackmailed." Piped up Stacy, in her most irritating, vacuous blonde voice.

Stevie rolled his eyes. So much for keeping that secret. "Stacy, we already know you're not as dumb as you act."

"He didn't know that!" Stacy sniped, "I was planning on acting simple to get this doc to feel sorry for m- us."

"Right everybody, let's sit down and talk about this." Dr. Love began, in his "group therapy voice". "I'm sure we can all work this out, without being snappy with each other. What have we to hide?"

"Apart from the bodies?" Jerkov snarked. He was feeling royally pissed at all this. He came in the hopes of a nice meal, free of charge, with the possibility of getting laid by some rich, mysterious woman. Those paperbacks always lied. He distinctly remembered _Encounter at Lover's Peak. _He didn't know you could use a cucumber like that.

"Look, was Alex into wrestling?" Ms. Kestrel enquired, desperate to get some kind of sanity back into her life.

"Can't we all just sit down first?" Dr. Love said plaintively. "I can't work with you unless you follow the rules. Sit down in a circle and join hands, close your eyes and call on the dark lord Cthulu to… oh, wait that's next week. We sit down in a circle and face each other. We take turns speaking. Only the person with the pixie gets to speak."

"Pixie?" Lionheart said, "I thought I was a quack, but you're the entire duck."

"I resent that remark." Love said, as he reached into his pants.

"What are you doing?" Madame Rouge said. "And please, you can't have anything in there that interests any of us."

"That's what you think." Dr. Love said, as he continued to rummage, and pulled his hand triumphantly from his pants. There was a pause.

"That is a sock." Stevie said, "A sock with a pixie hat sewn on, but a sock nonetheless."

"It's Pixie Socko." Dr. Love said, in a slightly hurt voice. "Here to listen to all your problems and help us find our way to a better way of life."

"What are you on?" Ms. Kestrel said. "And where can I find some?"

"Look, I have Pixie now. You can't talk until I give Pixie to you. Whoever has Pixie can talk."

"I refuse to have anything to do with anything that's been down your pants." Mr. Gold said, standing up in disgust. "I don't believe in this bearing our souls crap. Particularly to someone who is a total fraud. How can you find time to joke around like this when one of your patients is killing us? Heck, for all we know you're in on it."

"Look, this is a tried and tested method, it works." Dr. Love said, all pretense of the jovial clown dropping from his character. "And how DARE you say that I'm taking this lightly. I've SEEN what Alex is capable of, and at least if we're all here, we're not getting picked off one at a time. Maybe if we sit together, puzzle it out, we can come closer to understanding what the hell is going on. So until you have any better suggestions, why don't you park your ass down and shut up."

"I am doing something. I'm getting the hell out of here, and no-one can stop me." Gold retorted, heading for the door. Lionheart and Stevie got up to go after him, but Dr. Love gestured for them to let him go. Before leaving, Gold gave the room a final contemptuous glare.

"You're all fools." He sneered.

"Why did you let him go?" Stevie asked.

"I can't hold him prisoner." Dr. Love said, "Besides, where can he go? The house is locked up tighter than a drum."

"Right, I'll take Pixie first." Stacy said. "I arrived first, well, after Victoria that is. I suppose I better come clean, I work as a… hostess."

"Is that a euphemism?" Dr. Love asked.

"Alright I was a hooker." Stacy said, in an irritated voice. "Step- I mean, Madame Rogue here is, well, was, my boss."  
"She's no longer your boss?" Love asked. "How do you feel about that?"

"How I feel about it doesn't matter." Stacy said, "The point is that whoever owns this place got me out of that line of work, hired me as a maid. This was my first night. Going terrific, isn't it?" Her sarcasm could be cut with a knife.

"Anyway," she continued, "I was hoping to go onto college with the money I made, and I dabbled in a bit of blackmail on the side. Madame caught me, but instead of throwing me out, she asked me to get stuff from my clients, a lot of whom are wrestlers. Madame has a day job in a respected Connecticut business, so I think Blackheart was blackmailing her as she doesn't want her side line to come to light."

"That's a damn lie!" snapped Madame Rouge.

"You don't have pixie." Love interrupted. "Can you tell me anything about your employer, uh, present employer?"

"No." Stacy said. "Stevie said he saw her from a distance once, but that was it."

"How did you come to work for her?" Love asked curious.  
"I applied for hundreds of jobs." Stacy said. "When I got a letter saying I was accepted, I was just grateful to finally get an acceptance. Most didn't even bother replying. Though… I don't remember ever applying for a job as a maid."

"Interesting." Love said, making a mental note. He motioned for Stacy to pass pixie on to Stevie.

"My turn huh?" Stevie said. "Can't you come back to me? I lost the woman I loved earlier and I'm still a little… fragile."

"Very well." Dr. Love said. "Um, well doctor can you enlighten us?" He said motioning to Lionheart.

"Do I have to hold the sock?" Lionheart said, "I have to say I never saw the point of this stuff either. But I take your point about us not being killed when we're together. Well, I was sorta intentionally drawing out sessions to get more money. My clients were mostly wrestlers. Sometimes management would slip me a little to hurry sessions to get their guys back in the ring. And they suggested directions to send their thoughts in."

"You mean you were paid to drive people nuts." Love said, "after all, an unpredictable wrestler makes for a more entertaining match."

"Not necessarily," Lionheart said, "if you push them too far you can risk hurting the audience, damaging your business. The real genius is determining just how far you can push them." There was a pause, as Lionheart reviewed what he just said. "Aw crap! OK, I am scum, a major assclown, but a well paid one. Besides, the chance of straightening them out was mostly nil."

"Anything else?" Love asked, "Perhaps prescribing certain pain killers?"

"No, that would be unethical." Lionheart said.

"And what you were doing wasn't?" Love demanded, incredulously.

"OK, I'm a hypocrite as well. But you treat patients your way, I treat patients mine."

"How did Blackheart figure into your situation?" Love asked.

"I dunno." Lionheart puzzled. "Maybe one of those guys wasn't as crazy as I thought, Blackheart could have used him as a plant. The fact was, a lot of my medical files ended up in his hands. Don't know how, what with the safe, locked in a safe, locked in a filing cabinet in a cellar, but so it goes."

"What were they doing there?" Ms. Kestrel asked, momentarily sidetracked, in fascination.

"Do you think I'm a complete idiot?" Lionheart asked. "Don't answer that," he hesitantly tagged on. "If the medical associations realize I was working with my patients' employers instead of my patient's best interests, I'm fucked."

"Is that the legal term for it?" Jerkov asked, sarcastically.

"No, it's my term for it." Lionheart said, "Besides, I still have pixie so will you please SHUT THE HELL UP!"

'Well, give me pixie." Jerkov said.

Lionheart looked at Love, who nodded. He rolled the sock up, and threw it at Jerkov, who caught it.

The cycle continued, everyone revealing not only where they not nice people, but they were involved with wrestlers and wrestling. Jerkov added that Mr. Gold's comment the now deceased motorist was the one blackmailing him, and was also Widow Black's partner in her shady dealings.

"If I may say, in my professional opinion," Dr. Love said, "you are low life scum. No offense."

It was now Stevie's turn to speak. "I was the manager/valet of a wrestler, his real name was Scott Levy."

"What was that?" Love asked, "Forgive me, I'm deaf in one ear."

Stevie shot him a look. "Scott Levy, it's not important. Scott was an alcoholic and a drug addict, but he was trying to go straight. It was my job to make sure he showed up, 'in condition to perform', read not stoned or drunk off his ass." Stevie took a breath, as he knew it would be difficult to bring himself to continue.

"He'd been doing well, seemed there was someone new in his life, so I let my guard down. Victoria and I, well, we just hadn't seen each other in a while so we… well you know. I was only gone for about an hour. But when I got there, he was already in the arena, and it didn't take me too long to notice that something had gone badly wrong. He was acting like a mad man, like he didn't care. I went to the bosses and told him I screwed up, and he was stoned. But this was a match the promotion had been advertising for weeks, they refused to pull it."

Stevie dropped his head into his hands. "I know I should have done something to stop it, but I couldn't. I was afraid of losing my job. Besides, there were times Scott performed well, despite his problems. But…not this time. By the time the stretchers arrived it was obvious he was already dead. I lost my job and a friend."

"Oh, boo-hoo." Madame Rogue said. "You fucked up and you can't take responsibility."

"Oh yeah." Stevie said sarcastically, turning on her, "What would you know about it? All you know about wrestling is who's fucking who, you couldn't book a good show if your life depended on it! All you know about is money, money and sex. What would you know of the sweat and toil of a show, of the dedication of the men and women to their craft? How could you know, you talentless fool! I loved wrestling, it was my life, I gave it my all despite the crap, the backstabbing, because most of the people in it were wonderful human beings, selflessly sacrificing themselves to entertain the masses."

"Strong words." Dr. Love said. "You obviously feel strongly about this. Well… I'm afraid so did Alex. Alex's favorite mantra was that wrestling was great, except for the scum in it. Alex felt someone needed to clean the business up. I rather suspect that is why all of you are here. I'm sorry to say, this was a trap, and we have fallen into it."

"We?" Lionheart asked. "What's all this we stuff?"

"I was a wrestler." Dr. Love said "Hence the missing ear. Alex found out I was a wrestler in my youth. Instead of helping us to connect, it only exacerbated the situation. Alex decided I was just as bad, not because I did anything bad, but I didn't do anything to stop it. In spite of that fact I was just a guy jobbing more often then not who was ignorant of most of what was going on around me, Alex accused me of deserting wrestling and not doing anything to fix it. I couldn't make Alex understand my job was to fix minds, not to solve the problems in the wrestling world. To Alex, everything revolves around wrestling. Heck, the reason Alex got into Shakespeare and the Greek stuff was that there were elements of theatre in wrestling."

"Funny," Ms. Kestrel said, "I don't remember Hamlet putting anyone in a headlock or King Creon hitting anyone with a steel chair when the ref wasn't looking."

"I tried to make that point," Dr. Love said, "but Alex wasn't interested. The only other thing that of interest was religion, but an unhealthy interest in vengeance and the Old Testament's 'eye for any eye' mentality. I pointed out Jesus preached forgiveness."

"What was the reaction?" Stevie asked.

"Alex said, "All that attitude got him was nailed to a tree."" Love replied wryly.

"Ah." Lionheart said, "Someone deliberately misunderstanding religion to suit their own purposes. Nothing new there."

Mr. Gold wasn't really looking for a way out. He was heading back up to the attic; he was going to have a look at what was in that chest. He wasn't usually a curious person, but this was bugging him. It could have contained a weapon of some sort he could defend himself with. Then again, it could have contained a lifetime's supply of waffles for all he knew.

It was neither. To his surprise, it was a bundle of canvas, and thin metal tubes. A tent? What was a tent doing in a trunk in an attic? It didn't **look** like a tent, he thought. Not enough canvas. Wrong shape too. Oh, look, instructions. Well, well. Wasn't this convenient? He looked towards the large attic windows. Very convenient indeed. He struggled to contain the smirk that was crossing his face. Aw, to heck with it. He smirked, in fact he smirked smugly. Freedom, he thought, here I come.

WELL, EXPOSITION IS NEEDED TO AN EXTENT. I'LL TRY NOT TO OVERDO IT NEXT TIME. WHAT IS MR. GOLD PLANNING? WHEN THE HECK IS THE SHERIFF FINALLY GOING TO ARRIVE? IS HE WALKING OR WHAT? AND LASTLY, WHEN WILL ALEX STRIKE AGAIN? AND WHAT KINDA NAME IS ALEX FOR A SERIAL KILLER ANYWAY?


	8. Puppet on a string

IT'S MURDER AT THE TOP CHAPTER EIGHT

DISCLAIMER: For those of you who like Austin; this chapter probably isn't for you. PS I know most cops aren't really this dumb/ power mad. Just having fun with a cliché.

"Well what do we do when the Sherriff arrives?" asked Jerkov.

"Speaking of which," Stevie said; "Where the hell is he? That Motorist phoned at least an hour ago. I know this mansion's remote; but it's not on Mars."

Just then there was a screech of tires; a crashing sound and a large thump. The dogs went ballistic and a car horn was stuck blaring.

"Ask and ye shall receive." Dr. Love said piously. Everyone else got to their feet and charged towards the racket. Above the horn and the barking dogs a voice was heard swearing profusely; perhaps inviting profanities as it went along.

Stevie flung open the door and froze. Everyone else piled into him. The sight that meant their eyes was a cross between a comedic farce and a horror film. A winged creature would have appeared to have plummeted onto and through the roof of the arriving cop car. The driver of which was jumping up and down red faced and ranting; almost incoherent with rage.

"THIS IS A NEW PAINT JOB YA SUNBITCH!" The bald mad man swore; hurling his hat to the ground and stamping on it. "GOD DAMN HAND GLIDING BASTARD! I'M GONNA TAKE THIS OUT OF YER HIDE!" He whacked the bonnet; which brought an end to the blaring horn. The lights also went out; and the bumper fell off. This was not his night. To think he could be in the Friendly Tap, getting nicely pickled; instead of being in this, cold damp… very large mansion. Crap. He hated rich folk; they always looked down on him. Still; he may be able to arrest some of the smug sons of bitches.

The Sherriff; for so his badge proclaimed; seemed to be oblivious to the fact the hand glider was dead. No one's head was supposed to point in the same direction as their butt.

"That's Mr. Gold!" Stacy exclaimed.

"No, that WAS Mister Gold." Ms. Kestrel said.

"You may make fun of me for asking this;" Madame Rogue began, "but I must ask; is he dead?"

"Ooh yeah." Replied Lionheart. He had strolled over and was giving the corpse a further examination, "In my medical opinion; he has a broken frigging neck."

"Why was he on a hand glider?" Stevie asked, bemused.

"More to the point; where did he get one?" Dr. Love asked.

Jerkov turned back and was looking up at the house. "Well he came from the attic; the window's open. Therefore I'd say the attic."

"So that's what was in that trunk." Stacy said.

"What trunk?" Stevie asked.

"Well he found this trunk in the attic." Stacy explained, "He wanted to see what was inside; but then the lights went out and that so we got distracted."

"Hey; this hand glider's been sabotaged." Lionheart said. "Seems it was designed to collapse after a short distance."

"How do you know?" Madame Rouge asked.  
"Someone sawed half-way through the rods." Lionheart said. "Anyway, he didn't have enough height to gain altitude."

"And you know this how?" Rogue said, getting suspicious.

"It's a hobby of mine." Lionheart said.

"Oh really?" The Sheriff said. "In that case I arrest you under suspicion for damaging County Property; too wit my car. Oh, and causing this jackass' death."

"WHAT!" Lionheart said. "You can't arrest me for that!"

"Plus resisting arrest!" The Sheriff as he wrestled to get his gun.

"I'm not resisting anything!" Lionheart exclaimed.

"And talking back to an officer of the law!"

"Sherriff Steve Austin." Dr. Love said exasperated. "Do you think you can keep your finger off the trigger for a second?"

The two had met on one or two previous occasions. To say that they didn't get along would be like saying that Jim Ross is fond of barbecue sauce. It was the old cliché; the cynical cop who refuses to believe the doctor about the seriousness of the situation until it was too late. One saw the other as a gun crazed drunk; the latter saw the former as the only person more screwed up then his patients.

"Doctor Love." Austin replied. "What the hell are you doin' here? You better have a good explanation."

"As a matter of fact; I have a perfectly logical explanation for this whole thing." Dr. Love said, "It involves neoconservative Christianity, professional wrestling, Greek myths and William Shakespeare."

"You forgot an escape lunatic." Jerkov added.

"I prefer the term 'troubled patient'." Dr. Love said. "And anyway I was coming to that."

"I don't have time for more of this Alex Myer bullshit." Austin snapped, before he began imitating Love. "Oh, Alex is evil! Does evil things; like murdering evilly on account of being evil! That crap gets more then a bit tiresome. I'm just gonna arrest the guy who wrecked my car, then I'm off to the bar."

"Your dedication to your work is inspirational." Dr. Love drolly replied.

"The one who wrecked your car is the dead guy." Stevie said, "While he wouldn't resist arrest; I think you'll find getting a statement very difficult."

"Besides Sheriff, " Ms. Kestrel said, "Weren't you meant to pick someone up?"

"Oh yeah." Austin said, "My dumb ex. Wife's even dumber relative. As if that's gonna make my night." He sighed. He REALLY liked that car. It had a shiny light and went woo-woo.

"Ok where is the jackass? I'm gonna have to radio for another car to pick us up. Why the bastard couldn't call a cab like anyone else is beyond me. But oh no, he liked to make my life a misery."

"I'm sure he wasn't, I mean isn't all that-" Stevie said.

"QUIET! I'm having a rhetorical conversation!" The Sheriff interrupted. "Bet ya didn't know I knew big words eh? I also know trepidation; so there!"

"Charming." Said Stevie giving his shit-eating smile. "Perhaps sir would like to come into the house; and you can have a drink while you're waiting."

"Drink?" The Sheriff said perking up. "What kind?"

"Um," Stevie thought. "We have some… brandy."

"Fancy French piss." The Sheriff snorted.  
"Coffee?" Stevie offered.  
The look of outrage on the Sheriff's face suggested that he drop his pants in front of them all.

"I think there was beer in the…"

"LEAD ON FANCY PANTS!" The Sheriff enthused. "Why didn't ya say so in the first place?"

As Stevie lead Steve on; he looked back over to the others and mouthed "Move the stiffs."

"Huh?" Jerkov said.

"It looked like mauve and Sliff?" Ms. Kestrel said.

"No it was definitely mow the skiff." Lionheart said.

"What's a skiff and how do you mow it?" Stacy asked.

Stevie rolled his eyes. "One second Sheriff he said; while I converse with my totally moronic fellow… fellows."

Stevie walked up to them and rasped, "MOVE THE STIFFS! Do I need to spell everything out for you?"

"Where to?" Stacy asked.  
"Lets dump them in the Cellar." Kestrel said. "After all; that line of material should still lead back to the lounge."

"How come you get to go and drink beer with the Sheriff while we're humping bloody; no pun intended, corpses around?" Jerkov asked.

"I am not going to be drinking with him." Stevie said; "I'm going to distract him."

"I could distract him." Madame Rouge offered.

"Uh, no." Dr. Love said, "I know him very well my dear. His only loves are beer, hunting, hitting people, cars and more beer."

"Right." Madame Rouge said. "And how are we going to hide the fact his distant relative is dead?"

"Leave it to me." Dr. Lionheart said. "Get him drunk enough and he'll not notice the difference. I mean there's no marks on the body; it's just a little pale."

"What are you gonna do; pretend he's asleep?" Ms. Kestrel asked.

"Trust me." Dr. Lionheart said.

"You're a man; I don't trust any man." Ms. Kestrel said in her "you're all morons" voice.

"I'm getting to you aren't I?" Lionheart said, flashing his sexiest smile. The one he knew worked nine times out of ten. Kestrel replied with a sour look as if to say, "This is the tenth time buddy."

"Oh well, your loss." Lionheart said.

"So uh, done much Sheriffing recently?" Stevie asked desperately. He had no idea how to talk to this Neanderthal.

"Some. Done much buttering?" Austin replied.

"It's Buttling!" Stevie snapped. "Buttering means applying butter."

"Well I've heard what you rich folks get up to." Austin snarked.

Stevie rolled his eyes. Everyone is a wit.

They were just at the kitchen entrance. Stevie opened the door. Near the pantry; there was a barrel.

"So where's this beer then?" The Sheriff demanded.

"It's in that barrel." Stevie said.

"You keep beer in a barrel?" Austin remarked. "Sweet!" He went to take the lid off.

Stevie was at the counter, looking for a spigot. "Just let me get this…"

He turned around. Austin was busy breaking the top off.

"On the other hand you could slurp it right out of the barrel. At least let me get you a glass."

He walked over to the pantry; where the glasses were kept. He was glad they removed Victoria's body. It was placed in the laundry room. He hadn't remembered that until they reached the kitchen door. Thankfully someone had cleared up the broken plates and wiped away the blood. He'd have to thank whoever it was. Who was it?

He didn't have much time to ponder this as to his shock the pantry door flung open; smacking him on the forehead. He crashed onto the floor; instinctively he covered the back of his skull to stop his head getting split open. Unfortunately this meant when he fell his wrist hit the floor with a sickening thump. He heard a snap. Nausea washed over him. As things turned dark, he was aware of screaming, yelling and… gurgling?

Madame Rouge had seen many strange and quite disturbing things on this night. What she saw before her would rank up as perhaps the most bizarre.

"You have to be joking." She said, shaking her head.

"You can NEVER be drunk enough to fall for that." Jerkov added.

"Gello folks." A voice squeaked. It came from the Motorist's slumped body; which was propped up on a sofa. Doctor Lionheart's master plan for deceiving the Sherriff involved turning his departed vague relative into a crude ventriloquist's dummy. Where he got the string didn't bare thinking about.

"Will you stop that with his arm?" Jerkov said, "It looks likes he's… enjoying himself."

Madame Rogue only noticed now that the left hand was moving from crotch to chest and back again enthusiastically in short jerks.

"You sick bastard." She remarked.

"If he moves it's more realistic" Lionheart explained. He demonstrated by moving one hand up to the mouth and making the body do a vague yawing gesture. "Man," he squeaked in his dummy voice, "I'm DEAD tired!"

Rouge and Jerkov winched at the excruciatingly bad pun. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get that." They said in unison; both wanting to get the heck away from Lionheart; who was starting to weird them out. They got as far as the living room door; when Major Jerkov froze; like he had seen a ghost.

"What is it?" Madame Rouge asked; but he gestured for her to shush, then for her to watch. The two peered out of a crack in the slightly opened door.

They saw a short figure; roughly five foot four. The person was decked in black and wearing some sort of wrestling mask. The strangest thing was that the person appeared to be carrying a sword; not unlike those in Shakespearian plays.

"Alex?" Madame Rogue whispered.

"Probably." Jerkov replied.

The enigmatic figure stealthily moved for the door; and opened it. There stood a very tall muscular man in nothing but small, red shorts. The masked one cocked their head aside confused.

"KISSOGRAM!" The man yelled. He then looked down, and noticed the masked figure staring at him confused. He returned a confused look "Uh, this IS 976 Haddonfield grove? Kelly Kelly's birthday party?"

"No." The masked person said quietly. " "Haddonfield Grove is about ten miles back, You took the wrong turn off."

"Ah, I should have made a left!" The Kissagram realized. "Aw man, this is the third time I've got to the wrong house! My boss is gonna kill me."

"No, I'll take care of that." Came the reply from the masked one. Before the Kissagram could react; the figure stabbed him in the chest. The man fell to one knee; while trying to stop the flow of blood.

"As Richard III once said," the figure began, withdrawing the sword. "Off with his head!"

Jerkov and Rogue could watch no more. They both retreated from the door; as they heard a quick swipe of a sword; followed by a rolling sound. There was a pause.

"Didn't the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland say off with his head?" Madame Rogue said confused.

"No, she said off with HER head." Jerkov snapped. "Richard III said it in Act three scene four! Actually, the queen kept saying his head, her head, its head..."

"Will you shut up about head?" Lionheart remarked. "And what the hell happened out there? I mean you look spooked. Was it this Alex guy?"

"Yep." Jerkov said. "And he was appropriately dressed."

"How so?" Rogue asked.

"That was the mask of El Segador." The Major explained. "A lucador. The rough translation into English is the Reaper."

"Did you notice anything else?" Rogue asked.

"Well, obviously we can add expert with a sword to our killer's resume." Jerkov said.

"And?" Rogue asked, getting more impatient.

"A fetish for black?" Jerkov asked. 'What exactly do you want me to say?"

"It… was… a woman." Madame Rouge remarked. "I'm surprised you didn't notice, given the fact you've eyed up every other woman here at least once."

"I was a bit too intimidated by the sword to think about checking the psycho out." Jerkov quietly but sharply replied.

"Weren't you listening to the voice?" Rogue said.

"I thought it was maybe a guy with a high pitched voice." Jerkov clumsily said.

"And boobs?" Rogue said.

"You were looking at another woman's breasts?" Jerkov asked.

"No, unlike you, I am observant." Rogue sneered.

"Hold on." Lionheart said. "Bad enough to die; but are you saying, the psycho we're cowering from is… a girl?"

"Oh so men have the market on being psycho killers?" Madame Rogue snapped, eyes flaring.

"Um, clearly not." Lionheart said, retreating further behind the sofa.

"Hey, how come Dr. Love never told us Alex was a girl?" Jerkov said.

"He didn't tell us it was a guy either." Madame Rouge replied. "He just kept saying Alex this and Alex that."

"Do you think it's safe to go see where Alex went?" Lionheart said uneasily.

"Oh, dead safe- you lead." Jerkov said sarcastically.

"Wait!" Madame Rouge said, "our weapons are still on that table."

"I call dibs on this gun!" Lionheart said.

"That's my gun!" Jerkov said, grabbing it. Lionheart's finger tightened on the trigger. There was a click… but nothing happened.

"You tried to shoot me!" Jerkov said shocked.

"It was an accident." Lionheart said. "My finger just slipped on the trigger."

"Oh, like we haven't heard that on Perry Mason." Madame Rouge said.

"I don't understand." Jerkov said, "That gun was loaded." He snapped the gun open… no bullets.

"Hang on." Lionheart said, grabbing another. He pointed it up to the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Again nothing.

The three of them started grabbing their guns (no innuendo intended) and pulling the triggers. The only thing that happened was Jerkov's eyebrows getting singed when Madame Rogue found Mr. Gold's lighter and pulled the trigger by mistake.

"Who took the bullets out?" Lionheart asked. "I bet it was that jackass butler. He had a smarmy look about him."

"MY EYEBROWS!" Jerkov said as he caught his reflection.

"Trust me," Madame Rouge said, "it's an improvement."

"Wait a second." Lionheart said, "You two were the ones looking down here. YOU took the bullets out. You can be accomplishes. He picked up one of the daggers and started waving it about. He tripped over and appeared to stab himself in the stomach. Only the hilt was protruding between his fists.

"AHHHH!" He screamed. "I'm dying! I've stabbed myself- I'm… hey I'm OK. Why am I OK?"

"It's a trick dagger." Said Jerkov, having snatched it from Lionheart's hand. "See, the blade disappears into the handle."

Madame Rogue picked one final gun up, and pulled the trigger. A small flag unfurled with the word "BANG!" printed on it.

"What the… these aren't our weapons!" She exclaimed.

Lionheart picked up an iron bar and hit Jerkov over the head enthusiastically with it.

"I see. Made of rubber." Lionheart observed, a trace of disappointment in his voice.

Jerkov had two hands on top of his head. "You bastard! If that was real I'd be dead."

"Cry me a river." Lionheart said.

"So, if these aren't our weapons, where the hell our are weapons?" Madame Rouge asked.

"Did Alex do it?" Jerkov said.

"I dunno." Lionheart said, "When did she have the time to do everything?"

"When did who have time?" A voice asked.

They all jumped and screamed.


	9. The penultimate chapter

IT'S MURDER AT THE TOP PART 9

The three of them couldn't believe it. They were startled when they heard the voice; but seeing the person in front of them was nothing short of unbelievable. For the person who had spoken was none other than Victoria. It would appear she just emerged from the secret passageway. She was wearing a different outfit; a man's shirt and dinner jacket with a knee length black skirt.

"You're alive?!" Lionheart exclaimed.

"As Mark Twain once said, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." Victoria replied, a wicked smile on her face.

"How the hell is that possible?" Lionheart remarked. "You were impaled on a meat hook!"

"Your blood was all over the floor." Jerkov added.

Victoria chuckled wickedly. "Smoke and mirrors, my friends. It's amazing how realistic a little make up and some corn syrup dyed red can look."

"But why?" Jerkov asked.  
"Oh get real." Madame Rogue said. "She's helping Alex."

"You're pretty smart." Victoria said, "it's almost a shame I'm going to have to kill you."

"WHAT?!" Jerkov said, starting to go into another panic attack. "Why? And why the hell are you helping Alex, hell how do you know each other?! And-"

Before he could continue, Victoria pulled a gun, with silencer, out of her jacket pocket and shot him in the leg.

"Next time I go for your head." Victoria threatened.

:"You do know the others are only in the basement and will be back in any moment?" Lionheart asked.

"Oh, don't worry." Victoria said; "They're already taken care of, I set a few... surprises for them."

"Psycho bitch!" Jerkov muttered. He found himself clutching his suddenly bleeding and aching arm.

"Care to retract that statement?" Victoria purred.

"Shoot him again!" Lionheart begged. He narrowly missed having a permenant parting put in his hair.

"Let me explain how this works." Victoria said. "I have the gun. Therefore, you shut the fuck up."

"But there's three of us and only one of you." Jerkov barked.

"OK Braveheart, you jump her first." Lionheart replied. Victoria glared at him. "I'll be good." He whimpered.

"So what now?" Madame Rogue said. "Kill us all?"

"If I were running the show, I'd have killed you all one by one rather then arranging all this, like a damn Agatha Christie novel. But, unfortunately I am a 'hench-person', thus I follow orders. No matter how dumb-assed they are."

"So what does your 'boss' want?" Rogue said.

"Your head on a silver platter for a start. But first she wants to do the grand-reveal. The infodump. The amazing explanation of 'Why you all have to suffer and die.' I always said if she wasn't in the same cell as the dude who thought he was a pirate and the effeminate guy who quoted movies she'd be much, much less melodramatic."

"Why do you work for her then?" Rogue asked confused.

"Blame the agency." Victoria said.

"Agency?" the three chorused, confused.

"Yeah, Hench-Person Inc." Victoria said.

"Oh you made that up." Jerkov said.

"No." Victoria said, reaching into her jacket. She removed a small card, and showed it to Madame Rogue.

"Hench People are Us." She said. "Discreet, fawning, obedient. Other favors are extra." She paused. "Fawning and obedient?"

"Only when she's in the room." Victoria replied. "OK, pick up the whining jerk and haul ass."

In the cellar, Ms. Kestrel, Dr. Love and Stacy had finished stacking up the corpses; and were heading towards the exit. The door ahead of them suddenly slammed shut.

"I take it that's not meant to happen." Stacy commented.

"It didn't when we were here earlier." Ms. Kestrel replied.

"We better stay still." Dr. Love said, "I have the sneaking suspicion there's a booby trap being set." There was a slight creaking sound in the distance, like a rocking chair. A very big rocking chair. Getting closer. And louder.

"Do we even want to look behind us or should we start running now?" Love asked.

"I am NOT running from a rocking chair." Stacy snapped. She then looked behind, and started sprinting.

"I thought you said…" Dr. Love said, before looking behind him. What he saw was simultaneously ridiculous and terrifying. A giant, brightly painted, blue and red rocking horse bearing down on them. He was sure Homer didn't have this in mind when he wrote about the Trojan Horse, but this was no time to be pedantic. He knew he was screwed. Gym was always his worst class. He knew death when it was steampowering towards him. Who made a steam-powered rocking horse anyway? Then he remembered. His patient.

Stacy powering in the lead, her long legs eating up the ground looked behind her, just as the floor dropped beneath her, her screams echoing and she fell into the pit. She found herself surrounded by hundreds of venomous snakes, and on the wall was escribed the words, "LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP." She heard the unmistakable rattle, just as a sharp pain pierced her neck. Her blood turned to fire, and everything went black.

Kestrel and Love caught a hasty glance of the pit as they ran past it. Stacy's body was barely visible from the many poisonous snakes striking it.

"What a way to go." Kestrel said, grimacing. She then doubled her efforts. "Hurry up lard-ass!" The path in front of them split two ways. "You take the right, I'll go left!"

"Right!" Dr. Love replied. Seconds later there was a horrendous smashing sound and a hastily cut off scream. He shuddered, not wanting to know. And anyway, a glance backwards informed him he'd taken the wrong turn, as the horse was getting nearer and nearer. But up ahead was the door, he could, no, he WOULD make it. He grabbed the handle… and it came off in his hands.

"You, clever little bitch." He whispered. He closed his eyes, and swung around his back against the door, awaiting the inevitable. The horse drew nearer; steaming hissing from its nostrils and ears. This was it.

As Stevie slowly regained consciousness; he felt a sharp sting in his arm. His wrist was definitely broken; but he had no time to focus on that now. He had several questions running through his mind: Who knocked him out, how long was he out for, and where had the Sheriff gone?

"Greetings Steven." A voice said. "Longtime, no see."

He knew that voice. But where from? No, when from? He turned around, to be confronted with someone he hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Molly?" He asked, tentatively.

"Molly is dead." The petite brunette replied. "I stopped using that persona a long, long time ago." She smiled. Steven felt his heart go cold in his chest. It was the sweetest smile he had ever seen, but the eyes above it were totally insane.

"I lost my love." Stevie said, remembering the letter. "I get it now."

"Oh yes, Stevie." Molly, or Alex to give her real name chirped. "You will get it. Does your wrist hurt?" She asked mockingly, before grabbing it, twisting it twice viciously and throwing him back onto the floor. The agony was unbelievable. Stevie rolled over, and was sick over the floor.

"You mucky pup." Alex said chidingly. She rolled up some of the pamphlets she had earlier, before smacking him with them. "Bad puppy! Get up!"

Stevie slowly got up, and recognized one of the pamphlets. "That was you?!" He exclaimed. "Why didn't I recognize you?"

"Oh Stevie, people like you never see what's right in front of them." She said. "After all, you didn't figure out, even after Dr. Love said this was Alex's, sorry, MY house, that I was your mysterious employer. Heck, I even used the name I used to check into Scott's room under."

"B-but you always seemed so…sweet, kind…SANE." Stevie said.

Alex giggled. "How do you think I got away with it for so long?" Her eyes went deadly and hard.

"What did you do to the Sherriff?" Stevie said.

"Me? Oh nothing." Alex said. "He did it to himself. After all that boasting, turns out he couldn't drink as much beer as he thought after all."

Stevie looked at the beer barrel. "You didn't." He then noticed a badge floating to the surface. "You did."

Alex suddenly grabbed Stevie by his hair. "Now, let me see. Male and female wrestling match. Doesn't seem too fair. Your much taller and stronger then me. What can I do to even the odds."

"You've already broken my wrist." Stevie exclaimed. Part of him wanted to run like hell, but the sick feeling in his stomach told him he wouldn't make it very far. The sword she had with her seemed to suggest it.

"True, but let's face it Stevie." Alex said. "You always liked your women to be rough with you." With a quick feline grin, she advanced him. He turned to run, and a searing pain shot through his calf, as he realized too late she'd used the sword to ham-string him.

"Please just kill me." Stevie said. "I'm sorry I let Scott die, just end it now."

"You're sorry huh?" Alex said, before she spat in his face. "SORRY WON'T BRING HIM BACK!" She then slapped him hard. "What'll it be, best of three, submission, or last person standing?"


	10. The final chapter

IT'S MURDER AT THE TOP- FINALE

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to all my readers. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. The Candice reference refers to Candice Michelle's stint as a foot fetish/bondage model. And Stephanie McMahon was apparently responsible for the fatass angle, hence the reference in this. Be warned, this part is probably going to be the longest chapter, the most serious of them, and one with the most talking. You have been warned.

Before anymore physical pain could be inflicted on Stevie, the door to the kitchen swung open. He was shocked to see it was Victoria. He was too terrified to speak though, in case Molly- no, Alex would hurt him.

"Hey Stevie." Victoria said. "Good news and bad news. Good news is, I'm alive. Bad news is, you're not gonna be for much longer."

"What the heck is it?" Alex snapped. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?!"

"Hey, you were the one who told me to tell you when everything was ready." Victoria said defensively. "Keep that attitude up and the agency won't let you hire anyone again. I'm under contract until midnight, and until then I expect to be treated with the proper amount of respect someone in my job deserves!"

"Oh do forgive me." Alex said sarcastically as she headed towards the door. "Drag him along to the living room." She commanded, before leaving the room.

Perfect! Stevie knew this was his chance to try and reach his lost love.

"Vickie, listen to me." He whispered desperately. "You know full well Alex's not gonna let you walk away from this. Heck, she probably blames you as much as me for Scott's death. We gotta make a run for it while we have a chance! What do you say?"

Victoria seemed to consider his words. "You're right. She will probably kill me. But that's why I have this." Victoria said, opening her jacket and gesturing to her own gun. "So when Alex is busy killing all of you, I can kill her and then get away."

"You're gonna use me as bait?!" Stevie said indignantly.

"I was thinking more along the lines of cannon fodder." Victoria replied.

"Will you stop struggling?" Lionheart groaned. "You can keep trying princess, these ropes are unbreakable!"

"It's worth a try!" Madame Rogue snapped. "Oh, if only Candice was here. She was always good with knots!"

"Yeah, and her handcuff tricks were something special too." Jerkov added nostalgically. He then realised what he said and quickly added, "allegedly."

"Oh great." Lionheart thought to himself. "Here I am, about to die and the last thing that'll go through my mind is Sergeant Popcorn fart here getting jiggy with some trash bag ho!"

At that moment Alex entered the room. "Well isn't that cute?" She smirked. "You still think you can escape"

"There's always a chance." Lionheart snapped. "You haven't won yet."

"Really?" Alex snorted. "That rope is specially reinforced. And even on the incredibly slim chance you broke free, the door is locked; I'm armed; only I know where all your weapons are, I cut the phone line, nobody you know knows you're here, my dogs are outside and everyone but Stevie, who's barely conscious, and Victoria, who is working for me, are dead."

"Really?" Lionheart asked.

"Yep, all dead." Alex said.

"And you checked this?" He countered.

"Don't need to, my traps were fool-proof." Alex said arrogantly.

"What about Dr. Love?" Lionheart said. He noticed Alex's grin faltered a little. "While he may be a fat goofball who's taken a few too many hits to the noggin he's not a fool. And he knows the way you think."

As this was going on, Victoria had entered the room and plopped Stevie on the floor near Alex.

"Vickie." Alex said. "Have you checked the basement?"

"Why would I do that?" Victoria asked.

"Let me rephrase that." Alex said. "Check the basement Vickie. Unless you want to hear my grand speech as well."

"No, that's quite alright. I'll check the basement." Victoria said as she hurried out of the room.

"Philistine." Alex murmured. She then turned to address her captive, in every sense of the word, audience.

"I am reminded at this time," she began, "by the words of the Bard. He once wrote, 'If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you do poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?'"

She paused for dramatic effect. "Well… you have all wronged me, and I will have my revenge."

"How in the hell did I wrong you?" Lionheart blurted out.

"Let me refresh your memory." Alex said. "Scott was a patient of yours. Except the only thing that benefited from your sessions was your own bank account!"

"What about me?" Jerkov asked.

"Ah, young Randall." Alex said contemptuously. "Hitting on every woman in the locker room; be they valet, wrestler or wrestler's significant other. You even drove a few of them to quit wrestling."

"They just couldn't take a bit of harmless fun." Jerkov said.

"Did defecating in their luggage count as harmless fun?" Alex replied.

"You crapped in a bag?" Lionheart responded. "What, were there no toilets available?"

"That's just a ridiculous urban legend." Jerkov argued back.

"Not in my case." Alex said. "Oh, but because you're a talent scout, the boys in the back don't dare do anything about it. Hell, some of them probably thought it was hilarious. Well, the joke's on you."

Alex then focussed on Madame Rogue. "And now to Stephanie. Daddy's little princess."

"I don't even know you!" Madame Rogue protested.

"Really?" Alex snapped. "Do the words 'tankass' ring any bells? Or jello-butt? Or porky? Or any of the hundreds of names you called me?"

Suddenly the memories came rushing back to Madame Rogue. Alex leaned right into her face.

"Just because I'm not an anorexic bint doesn't mean I'm fat!" she rasped. She then poked Madame Rogue in the gut with her sword.

"If I can be honest," she began, "All kidding aside, no word of a lie, speaking from one woman to another; you don't exactly have a lot of room to be calling anybody fat. At least I'm all muscle."  
"So... you're gonna kill me because I called you fat?" Madame Rogue said.

"I'm very sensitive." Alex replied. She then took a step back, eying her prisoners eagerly.

"Oh, but who to kill first?" She said excitedly. "After all, you each deserve it SO much."

"Me." Stevie said, weakly. "Kill me."

"Yeah, kill him!" Madame Rogue chimed in.

Alex suddenly turned and with a quick swipe slashed Rogue's throat. A move she soon regretted as a gush of blood hit her right in the face.

"Gosh darn it!" Alex swore. She took a moment to wipe some out of her eye.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Stevie said. "I'm the one who deserves it the most."  
"Because I'm not through making you suffer." Alex said venomously. "Time for me to unveil part two of my plan."

As this was going on Victoria had reached the basement. At first everything appeared as it should. Both Stacy and Ms. Kestrel were definitely dead. She was wondering if Alex was becoming paranoid. What was so scary about Dr. Love anyway? He was wearing loafers and Santa Claus socks for Pete's sake.

Victoria wasn't one to get scared. She would get angry. So when she saw the rocking horse had stopped a few inches from its intended location; she just quietly swore to herself and reached for her gun.

"DOCTOR!" She yelled. Nothing. She then pointed the gun to the air and fired a shot. She heard a faint scuffle, but in the little light there was it could have been coming from anywhere.

"There's no use in hiding!" Victoria called, as she looked all around trying to catch sight of him. "I know every nook and cranny in this place. I'll find you; and when I do you'll wish that the rocking horse got you!"  
She then realised firing her gun and making threats probably wasn't the best way of getting someone to co-operate.

"Listen, Doctor." She began. "Maybe we can come to some kind of truce. Tell you what, if I put down my gun, you come out and we can discuss this like adults. Does that sound reasonable?"

Of course it would sound reasonable. After all, he didn't know about the other gun she had.

"Not really." A voice called from the labyrinth. "After all, if you set it down, when I come out you'll either pick it back up and shoot me; or you have another weapon."

Damn! He was good. She forgot he was a psychiatrist dealing with psychopaths. A neurotic assassin was a piece of cake.

"This calls for a bit of good old ultra violence." She thought to herself. "Very well, you're not coming out, I'm coming in after you!"

She stopped to think for one second; while she was a powerful woman he was a bear of a man. He was used to the dark, and she just destroyed her night-vision with that last blast.

"Oh, good work genius." She thought to herself. She took small comfort in the fact she at least knew where the traps in the maze were.

"Miss Victoria," a voice cooed, or at least as much as a voice like that could. "I just thought to be fair I'd tell you I'd found, deactivated and relocated some of your… toys."

Victoria froze. "NO FAIR!" She yelled. "I'M NOT GETTING PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS CRAP!"

"Well you could always turn round and leave." Dr. Love suggested.

"And admit defeat? Or face up to Alex?" Victoria called back.

"Well, rock; hard place, you choose." Dr. Love said. "In case you're interested- it's ten minutes to midnight."

She pondered this fact. If she turned back now, and went really slowly, by the time she got back she'd no longer be working for Alex. On the other hand, if she waited ten minutes; all bets were off and her safety was no longer guaranteed.

Victoria sighed, brushed some dirt away and sat on the ground.

"So," she said, "read any good books lately doc?"

Alex walked over to a closet. She removed a key from around her neck and opened it.

"What are you doing?" Stevie asked. "I thought you were going to explain your big plan."  
"Pipe down!" Jerkov said. "Do you want her to keep on talking?"

"I'm more worried about what she'll do to us AFTER she's done talking." Lionheart remarked.

"I like the way you think Doc." Stevie whispered. "I have a plan, I keep her busy, while you two keep trying the ropes."

Jerkov was about to voice how stupid he thought this plan was, but he was cut off by the sharp look Stevie shot him.

Alex began to walk back to the group; carrying a bundle of folders. Stevie recognised them.

"Oh no." Stevie said.

"Oh yes." Alex said. "Blackheart's blackmail bundle. Gosh, I love alliteration."

"You know," Stevie remarked, "I was so busy worrying about the power, then the motorist and all the deaths that I actually forgot about those folders."

"Oh, that was the plan." Alex said proudly.

"Plan?" Stevie said sceptically. "You even planned the Motorist?"

"Yep." Alex said.

"How?" Stevie said. He looked past Alex and saw that Lionheart's rope was beginning to come ever so slightly loose.

"Why do you care?" Alex said. Stevie noticed she was beginning to sound agitated. Perhaps changing tact and appealing to her ego would be the key.

"I'm just impressed. That you managed to plan this so perfectly; and that it's all seemingly gone according to your plan."

"Oh not entirely to plan." Alex said, feigning modesty. "You know that handglider?"

"Yeah?" Stevie said.

"That was just there." Alex remarked. "I got it one birthday but only used it once."

"Really?" Stevie said in disbelief.

"Yep." Alex stated. "I'd planned a King Lear related death for him."  
"Which one?" Stevie said. "There were lots of deaths in it."  
"The eye-gouging." Alex sighed. "Mind you, I liked how his death fitted into the Greek pattern."  
"If you don't mind me saying," Stevie said, "that whole thing seemed to peter out."

"Well, I had one or two ideas but trying to implement them was hard." Alex said. "It's one thing to say, 'I'll do a Medusa Death', but trying to find a way of turning someone into stone is a helluva lot more trouble then it was worth."

"So your grand plan is to just stay down here with me and hope the others forget about us?" Love asked. He and Victoria were actually on opposite sides of the same maze wall.

"Wow, you're sharp." Victoria said sarcastically.

"Now, a nice girl like you shouldn't behave like that." Dr. Love called.

"Nice?!" Victoria remarked. "I'm an accomplish to murder and was until quite recently going to kill you; yet you still describe me as nice?"

"Well… you have a nice voice." Love replied awkwardly.

Victoria frowned. Was this some kind of psychological trick? Or… was he flirting with her? And why was she blushing?

"What do you reckon is happening up there now?" she said, wanting to change the subject.

"If I know Alex she's probably in the middle of one her rants." Love said.

"Yeah," Victoria said. "I think it's part of the torture, so that when she does kill you it's a welcome relief."

"That's probably true." Love remarked. "Do you know psychology?"

"No," Victoria said, "But I have spent more then my fair share getting electroshock treatment."

Kinky, Love thought to himself.

After many digressions Stevie found out that Alex had killed the only nearby gas-station attendant, posed as an attendant and had sabotaged the Motorist's car herself.

"Didn't he find it odd there was a woman working at a gas-station?" He asked.

"I think he was too busy staring at my feet to really think things through." Alex commented. She appeared to shudder inwardly at the memory. "But enough about that. The grand plan. Here's the deal-"

"Don't tell me." Stevie said. "You're going to kill everyone but me, make it look like we all killed each other to keep our secrets safe; I'm the only survivor and thus the only one who can be prosecuted."

Alex looked indignant. She closed her eyes, paused to regain her composure... and then violently kicked Stevie in the ribs.

"Spoilsport!" She screamed, following it with another kick.

"Wha- WHAT THE HELL?!" Stevie yelled surprised. "What did I do wrong?!"  
"I didn't ask you to guess." Alex said callously. She then proceeded to kick him, and continued to kick him as she ranted.

"I wanted to say that! Do you know how long I've dreamed about this whole thing?! I wanted to savour every minute as your angel of death, I agonised over what potent phrases and wonderful words would serve as the final ones you'd hear. And you, Stupid Little Stevie had to spoil my happiness""

She finished kicking him. She just paused; leaned down into his face and said, "Then again, it's not the first time you've done that."

"Scott's death didn't just affect you." Stevie said. "I loved him too, just not in the way you did. There isn't a day in my life that goes by that I don't think about that night; and if I could change things; I would!"

There was a pause. He was trying to read the expression on Alex's face. It seemed a strange mixture of both hatred and… pity?

"You really are an idiot aren't you?" Alex she said coldly. "Scott wasn't the only love I lost that night."

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with c." Victoria said.

"Ceiling?" Love guessed.

"Your turn." She replied.

"This is getting old." He remarked.

"Well do you have any other ideas of how to pass the time?" Victoria asked. "I mean we ran out of small-talk a while ago." She paused. A wicked though occurred to her.

"So, how's your love life Doc?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Victoria grinned to herself. He sounded embarrassed.

"You married?" She asked.

"Why do you care if I'm married or not?" Love replied.

"Come on, you can tell me." Victoria said coyly.

"As a matter of fact I'm not." He remarked.

Good. Victoria thought to herself. Wait, why was that good?

"Ok." Victoria said, before quickly adding. "What about girlfriends?"  
"NO! I mean, no, I don't have a girlfriend. I would like to have one but in my job you don't get a lot of time for a personal life." Dr. Love remarked. "I'm usually busy chasing after which of my patients have escaped from the asylum recently."  
"Doesn't say a lot about the security." Victoria remarked.

"Oh, I know." Love remarked. "I keep telling them one nurse in the halls armed with only a flashlight, and one six foot fence doesn't constitute a proper security system."  
"Not even a guard dog?" Victoria replied.

"There is." Dr Love began, "but due to budget restraints all we could afford was a poodle called Chloe."

Victoria giggled. She could imagine how useful that would be against a near seven foot tall psychopath.

"It's not funny!" Dr. Love said. "What about you?"

"Huh?" She asked.

"Any boyfriends?" Dr. Love asked.

Victoria froze. She walked right into that one.

Stevie was very confused by Alex's last statement. Who else did she love other than Scott? A thought occurred to him. Maybe it wasn't who she loved, rather; what she loved.

"I **loved** wrestling." Alex stated. "Sure, I knew there was the bad-side, but when you love someone, or something, you love them despite their faults. I loved wrestling because I thought that despite the backstabbing, the sleaze and the excess that there were good, decent, salt of the earth people who were selfless, not only in their dedication to the fans; but to each other."

She smiled slightly to herself. "I mean, there was a real sense of camaraderie," she added in a nostalgic tone. "There was, honest to god friendship and warmth. I felt… I felt like it didn't matter who you were or were you were from, or what you did in the past; if you were white, black, Christian, atheist, saint or sinner; everyone was united in their love of the sport and that seemed to be enough. Sure we'd pull pranks left, right and centre but most of them were out of love rather then malice. I rather naively I admit, got the sense that if someone was in a real bad way; in spite of the politics people would help each other out."

"But, those good things are still there." Stevie said. "And they always will be. As will the bad side. Don't you see Alex, the wrestling world isn't black or-"

"If your gonna tell me there's only shades of grey I swear to God I will fucking kill you now." Alex coldly stated, as she gave Stevie a piercing "die you bastard" look. Stevie stopped talking. The fact that she had used a real swearword was enough to tell him further conversation was to be avoided.

"I used to believe that." Alex continued in her previous tone, like the last moment never happened. "But then I had a very rude awakening."

Stevie didn't like were this was going. He looked up. Unbelievably Lionheart and Jerkov were STILL tied up. That really was specially reinforced stuff.

"I found out that no-one really cares about anyone." Alex said, returning to her cold tone. "Wrestling truly is fake; every last bit of it. The Wrestling Family is humbug. They think by dressing it up in pleasant terms it somehow makes the act more acceptable. You're never fired, you're wished well on future endeavours, the writers give you a poorly written character and its your fault if it fails; they keep you on the benches and then fire you because you're not doing anything; the list goes on and on! After Scott's death, the most I got out of the wrestling industry was the cold-shoulder and mountains of legal expenses from the ensuing lawsuits. And after all Scott had given them, physically and mentally; was there any kind of tribute? No; they acted like he never existed. It seems you're only remembered as long as they can make money off of your legacy."

Stevie had heard enough. He didn't mind the beatings. He didn't mind the guilt trip about Scott's death, or even the fact she'd gotten pretty sour about wrestling. But he wasn't going to stand back and listen to psuedo-nihilistic whining. He had enough of that with Scott.

"Why bother then?" Stevie snapped. "If you think wrestling is so horrible why bother trying to change it? Dr. Love told me you wanted to weed out the bad, but what for? If you don't love wrestling anymore why not just let it go?!"

"I am letting go." Alex replied. "But after a long, difficult relationship; the healing process can be difficult. People cope with it in different ways. Some burn old love-letters and photographs. Others return presents; some even leave the country. I however, kill people."  
Even though Stevie was fully aware of her insanity, this statement still threw him.

"Mind you," Alex continued, "you never know; love and hate are so close it can be hard to distinguish them. Maybe after enough people die I'll find I like wrestling again. We'll just wait and see."  
"You mean this isn't it?" Stevie said. "You're going to keep on doing this?"  
"Stevie," she replied; "this is only the beginning."

Victoria had finally found Dr. Love. He looked desperately around to try and find an exit. Given he was in a corner this wasn't going to happen. This was it. Victoria edged closer and closer until…

"Tag!" She yelled as she slapped his chest.

"Ow!" He said, rubbing his wrists. "Not so hard."

"Wuss!" Victoria teased.

"I wouldn't have agreed to play tag if I knew you were gonna be this mean." Love moaned.

"What do want me to do, kiss it better?" She asked. Although that might be nice… damn it! Why was she acting like this? She's not a lovestruck kid, she's always been the dominant one, the controlling one.

Rather then reply Dr. Love stepped forward and began tickling her.

"Cut it out!" She said in between giggles.

"Not so tough are you now?" He taunted.

Mind you, she thought, there's nothing entirely wrong with being submissive from time to time.

"So, when does it stop Alex?" Stevie asked. "Ten, twenty people? A year, ten years, thirty years from now?"

"I dunno." She said shrugging. "I doubt I'll always be this inventive with the deaths. Some people don't deserve the effort."  
She suddenly tensed.

"Hold on a minute." She remarked. "The loudmouth and the moaner have been awfully quiet."

Her eyes suddenly glazed over, and soon she was on the floor, unconscious. Stevie looked up confused to see a freed Dr. Lionheart and a still restrained Jerkov.

"Nerve pinch." He explained. "What, you didn't expect me to hit her?"

"You took your sweet time!" Stevie remarked.

"Hey, I got there in the end." Lionheart replied, as he reached down to help Stevie up.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Stevie asked him. "Up till quite recently you were only out for yourself."  
"Trust me." Lionheart began, "People get killed, you get beat up and tortured you learn your lesson. No amount of money in the world is worth this much trouble."  
"Oh." Stevie said. "So you're being kind just to safe yourself hassle."  
"Hey," Lionheart said, "there are worse reasons."

"True." Stevie said.

"WHAT ABOUT ME YOU JACKASSES?!" Jerkov yelled.

"Easy junior," Lionheart said. "I just wanted to ensure that Ms. Myer wasn't going to give us any trouble."

Lionheart then undid Jerkov's restraints. He struggled to his feet, still reeling from the bullet wounds he endured what seemed hours ago.

"So what now?" Lionheart asked. "She's not going to be out for long."  
Stevie searched Alex and found the key to the front-door. He also took her sword from her.  
"Simple." Stevie said. "We all arrived here in cars, we take one of them and get the hell out of here. If Doctor Love's still around he can deal with her."

"I think I'll check the basement, see if he's down there." Lionheart said.

"Right." Stevie said. "Me and Jerkov will keep an eye on Alex."

"What about the blackmail material?" Jerkov asked.

"Who cares?" Stevie said. "Just leave it."

"I want to destroy it." Jerkov stated.

We don't have time for this!" Stevie rasped.

And so began a pointless argument that went nowhere and wasted time. And this was long before the Internet was readily available. Lionheart walked out halfway through shaking his head. Maybe Ms. Kestrel was right about men after all.

Lionheart of course wasn't sure if Dr. Love was still alive. For all he knew he was walking right into a trap. Nonetheless, he marched on to the maze.

"Hey Doc, you in here?"

He thought he could hear some moaning. It sounded like Dr. Love! He must have been in danger.

"Don't worry, I'm coming!" Lionheart yelled, he ran into the maze.

"Dear God!" He exclaimed.

"PERVERT!" Victoria yelled, as she hastily tried to cover herself up. Lionheart turned his back to give the two some privacy, but mostly to try and get that mental image out of his head.

"It's… um, not what you think?" Dr. Love said, as he tried to pull his pants back up.

"I guess there's hope for us all yet." Lionheart snarked. "I mean, if a chump like you can get a girl like that…"

"Was there a reason you came down here or are you just here to make wisecracks?" Victoria snapped.

"Yes and yes." Lionheart replied. "We've captured Alex. You can take her back to the asylum."

"Great." Dr. Love said.

"Hold on." Victoria said. "You've caught her?"

"Yep." Lionheart said. "I don't wanna boast; but it was all totally because of me. Right now Stevie's got her and I think Jerkov mentioned burning the files"

"What?!" Victoria said, a panicked look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Love said.

"We have to go and stop the others from doing something stupid!" Victoria said, as she made a run to the secret passageway.

"This is stupid." Stevie remarked. "Why are you so concerned? Blackheart is dead, we're not going to get blackmailed anymore."

"It'll just make me feel safer!" Jerkov said, appearing to be on the verge of another panic attack, "I'll just put them on the fire, and it'll be over in minutes."

"Fine!" Stevie rasped.

Jerkov grabbed the pile. "Should I do them one by one or all at once?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, did I give the impression that I cared?" Stevie snapped. It was clear that despite her current state he was still terrified of Alex, he kept one eye on her at all times.

"Fine." Jerkov replied. He threw them all on at once. Suddenly there was a loud ping, then another and soon a chorus. Flaming shrapnel started to fire all over the place. One struck Jerkov in the chest.

"What the fuck?" Were his last words, before he keeled over dead.

Stevie knew this was bad news. One of pieces hit the curtains, and a fire started. Since the fifties weren't exactly known for their flame-retardant materials, he knew it wouldn't be long before the room, if not the whole house was in flames. He had to find a way out, and fast.

"You put the ammo in the folders?" Lionheart repeated.

"I didn't have time to hide them properly." Victoria protested.

"Let's hope we get there in time." Dr. Love said desperately.

Victoria threw the switch to the secret passageway; and a huge cloud of smoke poured into the room. Victoria threw the switch again, closing it.

"Now what do we do?" Lionheart asked.

"Put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye!" Lionheart said.

"Or…" Victoria said, reaching for another switch, "We could use the emergency exit."

Before Dr. Love or Lionheart could comment, she threw the switch which had _Deus Ex Machina _engraved above it. Lionheart could swear it wasn't there earlier. Nothing appeared to happen.

"Gee." Lionheart said, "That was wor-" Before he could finish the three of them fell through a hole on the floor. The next thing he knew they were shooting along a slide at break neck speed. Going down, and down until there appeared to be a wall up ahead.

"We're gonna crash!" Love said, bracing himself for impact.

At the last second, the wall slid up, revealing another portion of slide.

"Who designed this place, Disneyland?" Lionheart exclaimed. They were eventually deposited in a field that was at least a mile away from the Mansion. They collapsed into a heap at the bottom. There was much groaning and rubbing of body parts, and not in a good way.

Lionheart looked around. He looked up to see the Mansion blazing in the background. He did a double take.

"Huh?" Lionheart exclaimed. "But how did we… from... that's impossible!"  
"Sometimes working in a mansion run by a lunatic pays off." Victoria said.

"We have to go back!" Love exclaimed. "The others are still in there!"

"No, it's too late." Victoria said. "There's no way that they're still alive."

She was wrong of course. Though we shouldn't be too harsh. They don't know what was happening simultaneously. Whereas a smarmy, semi-omnipotent narrator does know. And will now explain.

Stevie was still alive, although he knew he didn't have much time. He ran out of the room, with the sword still in his hand. He didn't have time to worry about Alex. Besides, at the rate the flames were spreading he didn't have time to go back for her.

Where to go? Suddenly he remembered, the conservatory! He made a dash for it. Soon he was at the door, leading to the back garden. He tried the handle… locked.

"Damn it!" He thought. This was it. This was the end. Then, something rare happened. He used his common sense. He had a sword. There was a glass widow in the door. And there was glass all around him, which barely separated him from becoming extra-crispy. He knew he didn't have much time, so he started hammering away at the door's glass with the butt of the sword.

This didn't really prove useful. It cracked, but didn't shatter. He discarded the sword, and picked up one of the large potted plants. It was heavy, which meant it should work.

He flung it against the conservatory, and it created a hole big enough for him to jump through. And also big enough for JR and King to leap through to get inside the house. Which they did. The two of them began to edge towards Stevie, growling wildly.

"Oh come on!" Stevie said to himself. He could feel the heat as the flames began to engulf the house. He dove for the sword, and swung it wildly. He didn't intend to hurt the animals, just to get them to back off. It seemed to work, as he edged towards the makeshift exit.

He leapt out of it, and didn't stop running until his heart and feet could take no more. He was in agony, but he was alive.

EPILOGUE

"Honey- I mean, the doctor will see you now." Victoria said sheepishly.

Stevie found it hard not to smile. Victoria, married and working as a receptionist. Guess people could change after all.

"I said now!" She yelled. Well, most people. Stevie got up and made his way down the hall towards Dr. Love's office.

Along the way he met Dr. Lionheart. The two nodded politely at one another. He'd changed a lot too. He vowed now he would save everyone of his patients, in order to prevent another 'incident.' He was as rude and arrogant as ever, but his heart was in the right place.

"So," Dr. Love began, "how have you been feeling Stevie?"

"Ok I guess." Stevie replied.  
"You guess?" Dr. Love said.

"It's just…" Stevie began, "I still feel… guilty. Not just for Scott's death, but I left Alex behind."

"It's been six months." Dr. Love said, "You have to let go."

Before Stevie could reply, the phone on Dr. Love's desk suddenly started ringing.

"Excuse me." Dr. Love said, as he went over to it. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" He asked. The colour on his face drained. He dropped the receiver. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

Stevie ran to pick it up. "Hello?" He asked hesitantly.

"Hi Stevie." A giddy female voice replied. "Long time no see. "

Stevie's eyes widened in fear. "Alex, I-"

"Oh, what's that Stevie?" Alex said mockingly, "Yet more excuses, yet more lame apologies? 'Oh, I'm sorry for neglecting Scott! I'm sorry for leaving you to die in a burning building!'"

"Please, listen…" Stevie said.

"No, you listen." Alex snapped. "Luckily for you I'm busy at the minute. There's a promotion in Orlando that's in need of a good clean up. But rest assured little Stevie, once I'm done there we'll have plenty of time to chat, and plenty of time to make you very, very sorry. Toodles!"

The phone line went dead.

**THE END?**


End file.
